Change of Scenery
by abc79-de
Summary: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.
1. Chapter 1

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to _P.S. I Lo…._ Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

Rory watched the bus doors open as it idled at the scheduled stop, a block away from Chilton Preparatory Academy. No one got off, as the only person that took the number five bus from Stars Hollow in order to arrive at Chilton was her, and her commute had been by her own saddle shoe-covered feet that morning. She'd left the Gilmore residence, just a few blocks away from her school, early after sampling barely more than a piece of toast from the breakfast buffet her grandmother had requested the cook to provide for her. She hadn't wanted to discuss any specific details of what had led her to seek sanctuary from her home, and a sit-down at the dining table with the formidable Emily Gilmore would have left her no way around offering a meatier explanation as to why she'd chosen to sleep under their roof after showing up unannounced on their doorstep the previous evening. Instead she'd fabricated an early meeting for a fictional group project with the true intent to read in the library before first period.

She had three extra works of fiction to choose from in her overstuffed backpack, but rather than reading in the comfort and quiet of the school library, she'd found herself under an old oak tree, watching her bus come and go—a manifestation of the fact that she wasn't where she was supposed to be. She'd committed an act of ultimate defiance, in her choice of places to take asylum—making her less of a refugee and more of a traitor.

The bus disappeared around the corner, running its schedule regardless of her absence. She wondered how many days it would take for the driver to give up on her and begin to only slow down instead of making a full stop. She wondered if the people in her life would also denote her absence with barely a pause to their normal routines. It was a crazy thought, she chastised herself inwardly. She couldn't hide out in Hartford forever, and she was the only person likely to take such notice of the changes to her routine during her search for solitude. She was lucky her mother hadn't stormed the castle the night before. She hoped it at least drove her a little crazy, showing her that Rory had been serious when she'd said she didn't want to discuss her mood or her ex-boyfriend or anything at all. The first bell rang, signaling the start of another school day. She pushed herself away from the bark and made her way into the main building.

She opened her locker, easily tuning out all the inane conversations around her. The things that occupied the average teenage mind were at best fleeting and usually exhaustively frivolous. There were no shortage of personal tragedies in the halls around her on a daily basis—someone was having a bad hair day or woke up with some sort of blemish, someone else just got dumped or hadn't been asked to some party. No one paid her much attention, but still she busied herself with the task of switching out her books and folders and making sure she had at least this one faction of her life under control.

"Damn," she swore at the realization she'd left a book behind in Stars Hollow in her hurry to escape, the word uttered so softly under her breath that with the intermittent clatter of slamming lockers and bursts of girlish laughs throughout the halls, no one should have heard her. Of course, being part attack dog, Paris Geller—her arch nemesis—heard everything from her locker, too near to Rory's for either girl's appreciation.

"Problem, Gilmore? Let me guess, your small town is short of hay bales for the corn maze and taffy pull?"

"Why are you interested, Paris? Are you in need of spare sticks to shove up your butt?" Rory asked, her acerbic response to Paris' hayseed jokes even harsher than most mornings. Granted, she had missed out on her usual cup of coffee. Emily Gilmore didn't think such a young girl needed so much caffeine so early in the morning. Rory had taken note that Emily had spouted this belief while drinking her second cup of coffee, which made the denial harder to take. Paris was never short of an unkind word or thought for Rory, so she felt slightly less guilty for offering up her own brand of jaded barbs at her as opposed to all the awful things she'd said of late to her best friend, Lane Kim, and her mother. It seemed when she wasn't at a loss for a proper response of late, as she'd been on her last date with her ex-boyfriend, Dean, she was in the business of biting people's heads off. Yeah, she was a real treat. It was no wonder Lorelai hadn't come to get her last night; her mother was probably relieved at the time apart the previous night had offered.

"Did you fail a test?" Paris asked, in a low enough tone to be conspiratorial, almost as if they might ever be considered friends—if not for her tone, which spoke of pure delight at the thought of Rory's downfall. Paris would love nothing more than for Rory to fail out of school, which had been the main reason that had driven Rory to persevere when she first got to Chilton and found herself drowning in an effort to catch up to her new classmates. Now that Rory had found her footing, Paris saw only an extra body that was ruining the curve at the upper end of the grading scale. There was the other matter, of Rory having convinced one Tristan Dugrey to ask Paris on a date—which she'd done out of the goodness of her own heart given Paris' obvious crush on the school's resident boy toy, which had failed in such a way that Paris had probably fashioned a voo-doo doll in Rory's likeness and taken sick pleasure in jamming it full of pins on a nightly basis. With Paris, Rory had found that she was damned if she did and damned if she didn't. She was in no mood to give Paris any boosts to her self-esteem that morning.

"Don't you have anything else on your to-do list for the day, Paris? Like kicking puppies maybe, or taking candy from babies?"

"Hello, ladies," Louise Grant said as she sashayed up to the two bickering girls, but she stopped short as she sensed the tense air between them. "Did someone break a nail?"

"For your next birthday, maybe you should skip the nose job and have your Daddy buy you some priorities," Paris suggested harshly.

"I have priorities. That's why I'm getting the nose job," Louise sneered.

Rory rolled her eyes. "Louise, do you have a copy of the assigned book for Medina's class?"

Louise nodded, plucking it off the top of her small stack of class supplies with her perfectly manicured hand. "Sure."

"Do you mind if I borrow it?"

"You don't have your assigned reading done?" Paris asked, aghast at the notion.

"Paris, no one finished reading that thing. It's boring," Louise informed her.

"I've read it five times," Paris retorted.

"Of course you have," Louise said sadly, before fixing her fashion-focused eyes on Rory. "I'm surprised you haven't finished it yet. Oh, or did you get back together with that fine, tall drink of water boyfriend of yours?"

Paris eyed Rory warily. It was clear she wanted to know the answer as well. Rory stiffened at the mention of Dean. The only way he'd want to date her again was if she could offer up the three words he wanted to hear in return from her. She handed the book back. "Never mind. I have to go."

"Okay, that was weird," Louise said as Rory skittered down the hall.

"Yes, it was," Paris said as she took off at a speed-walker's pace after Rory, who was halfway to Max Medina's classroom. "Did you get back together with Dean?"

Rory glanced over her shoulder. "Why would you even remotely care?"

Paris scoffed. "I don't. It's just you're being weird. Weirder than normal, I mean," Paris buffered the comment with just slight, as was her trademark.

"I think Madeline and Louise are starting to rub off on you. Pretty soon you'll be reading best sellers and wearing glitter nail polish," Rory warned.

"You didn't ride the bus," Paris blurted out, ignoring Rory's last comment.

Rory spun on one heel to face Paris. "Excuse me?"

"You ride the bus in from your Mystic Pizza-esque town, right? Or have you mastered teleportation?"

"It's my science fair project," Rory evaded, her sense of humor as dark as the rest of her mood. "Sometimes I end up at Chuck E. Cheese, but most of the time I get it right."

"But today you walked. I saw you, coming from the opposite direction of the bus stop."

"Are you stalking me now?" Rory asked with narrowed eyes, beyond irritated to still be discussing the matter, with Paris of all people.

"Like I have nothing better to do than follow you around?" Paris asked, incredulous at the thought. "I couldn't care less what you do."

"Then act like it. We are not friends, Paris; you've made that abundantly and pain-stakingly clear."

Paris stiffened. "I have better things to do."

Rory gestured for the other girl to go away with a wave of her hand. "Then go do them."

Paris flounced off around her, into the same room that Rory needed to enter. Rory took a deep breath in and out before turning around and coming face-to-face with her Lit teacher.

His face was etched with concern. "Hello, Miss Gilmore."

He knew. She knew he knew, just by the sight of him. His warm brown eyes showed sign of sleeplessness, and his desire to speak as more than her teacher radiated off of him. It made her a little sick to her stomach, to think of him comforting her mother last night when she realized that Rory wasn't coming home for the night. Lorelai probably let him spend the night, though, to keep her company in the suddenly empty house. Frustration at all the things her mother had kept from her, the ways she'd tried to protect her from further pain sprang up in her throat. She expected full disclosure from Rory when she was keeping her fair share of secrets.

"I'm going to be late."

He stepped back. "Come on in."

She walked past him, careful to keep her gaze just ahead and mostly on her desk. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Paris in deep conversation with her two lackeys, both of whom had no qualms about openly staring at Rory while they spoke about her in hushed tones. She took her seat, two rows over from the other girls, and hoped for the next hour to go by quickly. She'd had trouble concentrating, lost in thoughts of just how badly she'd let down the few people she was supposed to care about more than anything else in the world. Snippets of her last conversations with her mother and best friend kept playing through her mind. All she had to do was close her eyes to see the hurt and betrayal on Dean's face as they sat in the car he was making for her. He'd made her a car. And she'd crushed his heart.

With all that going on in her head, it made it hard to focus on things like classroom discussions and responding to her name when she was called on. By the end of class, Mr. Medina called her name loudly as her fellow classmates began filtering out. She'd gathered her belongings at the sound of the bell and felt a sense of dread come over her as she stopped at his desk.

"Are you okay?" he asked, once they were the only two left in the classroom.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she asked flatly.

"Rory, your mother is worried sick. She had everyone she knew looking for you yesterday. She sat in the kitchen staring into your empty room until I made her go to bed last night."

She was right; he'd stayed over. Maybe that was why her mother, who despite everything else in their lives, had always been there for Rory and taught her that they would work everything out together—good or bad—had failed to show up to get her after Emily called let Lorelai know Rory was safe at their home. It had been Emily's one stipulation—Rory was welcome to stay under their roof for as long as she liked, as long as her mother knew she was safe.

"I'm fine. Can I go now?"

He crossed his arms and sighed. "You were very distracted today. Did you get the assignment?"

She nodded, clutching her notebook to her chest. "Yes."

"You didn't bring your book."

She shrugged. "I've read it before, and I turned in my assignment. Am I in trouble?"

He backed off then. "No. I know I'm your teacher, and I shouldn't interfere with your personal life," he began.

"Then don't," she said simply as she left his classroom. She knew he'd pass on her behavior to her mother, yet another strike against her and her turn of attitude in Lorelai's eyes.

The rest of the day was far easier to bear—she was used to Paris and her underlings discussing all her many faults all while shooting her disapproving glances, and none of her other teachers were currently having overnights with her mother. No one knew that she'd spent the night in Hartford, though Mr. Medina had made it sound like all of Stars Hollow had been searching for her for a portion of the evening, and news had probably spread all over town that Rory's recent behavioral shift had come to some kind of breaking point. Everyone in town was so concerned about upsetting her, trying to protect her from the way they assumed Dean had hurt her—refusing him service and showing her preferential treatment, when in reality it was her that had done the hurting. He should hate her, for turning everyone against him, let alone the way she'd treated him. She should be the pariah, and it seemed she'd finally succeeded in becoming just that. It was relieving, in a bizarre way.

When the final bell rang, she shut her locker. She needed to go to the library to get a temporary copy of the assigned book for Medina's class. She'd left her copy on the nightstand next to her bed in Stars Hollow. She wasn't sure how long she'd take haven at her grandparents, but the thought of a couple of days away from all the things she left behind eased her mind.

She walked out through the parking lot to the street. Most of the kids with cars were gone, leaving the lot nearly empty. She'd purposely taken her time inside to miss her bus as it paused to collect her, had she been waiting—another sign of her noted absence. She knew she could go home, but she'd yet to make sense of what exactly she was feeling—there was too much pain and hurt and frustration knocking around inside her. All she really knew was that she needed a change. She didn't want to be angry, she didn't want to be incapable of feeling love, and she didn't want anyone to protect her from the realities of life.

A familiar figure stepped out from the far end of the lot, falling into step with her on the sidewalk. Tristan Dugrey had made the better part of her first few months at the school as uncomfortable as possible—with his overt come-ons and his ability to inspire Paris' psychotic wrath, all aimed at her when she had enough trouble just trying to adjust to the rigid and demanding standards that Chilton called for. He'd been less and less on her radar for the last couple of weeks, ever since he'd taken Paris out on their first and final date per her suggestion. Today, in fact, she realized she'd not seen him at all. She drew away from him in surprise, as she'd assumed he'd been out from school after his seat had gone unfilled each of the three classes they shared throughout the day.

"What are you doing?" she asked, possibly a bit harsher than she intended to sound, but with Tristan it seemed safer to discourage him at every given opportunity. The only time she'd let her guard down near him, he'd kissed her. She watched him as he continued to walk alongside her, thinking again that he'd kissed her. On a piano bench. She'd never realized he played the piano before that night. She'd overheard any number of girls discussing just how good he was with his hands, but none of them had ever mentioned a piano being involved. She'd painted him into a very narrow light, one that didn't involve the almost shy way he'd brushed his lips across hers or the soft melody that she'd heard coming from the piano as she approached him that night.

"Walking you somewhere. Where are we going?" he asked, not one to be deterred by details like a destination or an invitation.

"Biker bar," she responded glibly, not changing her speed. She was sure he could outrun her, given the sheer difference in their heights, and if she walked any slower, they'd be standing still. The faster she got home from school, the sooner Emily's questions would start. She could only put off her tenacious grandmother for so long, if she planned on staying in Hartford for any length of time.

"You're going the wrong way, then," he said, indicating over his shoulder. "You don't your way around Hartford well, do you? I could give you instructions, or a ride, if you need," he offered.

"I'm good, thanks," she muttered, without bothering to look his way. She didn't need to see him to know he was still keeping pace next to her. His presence was the sort that was obvious without confirmation—a fact in which he no doubt took pride.

"Don't you normally take a bus?" he inquired, ever curious it seemed when it came to her. She didn't see why everyone had so many questions for her lately. She didn't have any good answers, that much was for sure. Sometimes she just wished people would let her be unsure.

She gritted her teeth. "So?"

"So, isn't Stars Hollow a long walk from here? And again, the other direction?"

She turned to him, unable to take any more, stopping altogether as she hit her boiling point. "Why do you care? Did I show up at your car, demanding to know why you weren't in class all day?"

He smiled down at her, giving her a pass for her ire. "You missed me?"

She rolled her eyes and turned to start walking again at a faster clip. "I'm tired of talking. If you insist on walking with me, can we please just not talk?"

She was flooded with respite as she felt him fall into step once again with her, this time with no questions, just the steady sound of his footsteps and a gentle breeze rustling the trees over their heads. She could feel his eyes on her, the likes of which stood out against the regulation blue blazer he sported. Everyone else had peppered her with questions without regard to her insolence, but no one else had just done as she'd asked and dropped their curiosity at her behavior.

She had no doubt that he'd recognize her destination once they got close enough. He'd been there on at least one occasion that she knew of—the night of the birthday party her grandmother had thrown for her against her wishes the previous fall. They passed the remaining blocks quietly, making their way under the brilliant pastels of the leaves that were filling out in the warming spring air. Her grandparents' neighborhood was full of established, beautifully maintained greenery and rows of complementary trees lined the wide sidewalks that seemed unending in front of a series of gated-off estates.

"Visiting your grandparents?" he asked finally as she came to stop in front of the Gilmore's gates. It was the easiest question she'd been asked in recent memory.

"Yeah," she nodded easily as she stared through the gates. She made no move to step onto the property.

"Sometimes a change of scenery is nice, isn't it?" he asked. Something in his voice hinted that he understood, just what it was she hadn't been able to vocalize to anyone else. He made it seem so simple, whereas it felt anything but to her.

She looked up at him. "Yeah, it really is."

He nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets. He hadn't carried anything with him, not even a backpack. She could feel the added weight on her shoulders, the padded straps digging into her muscles. Even still, she was in no hurry to rid herself of it.

"Where were you today?" she asked, relieved to not be discussing her situation further.

He cocked his head slightly, though his pensive expression didn't change. "Doctor's appointment."

"Oh. Well, thanks for walking me home," she said, though it struck her that this wasn't her home, not really, and it wouldn't be no longer how long she stayed. None of her things were in that house. Emily had set up a room for her, filled with items that she was sure some sixteen-year-old girl would love. But not one object in that house belonged to her—nothing that she had chosen or treasured. Everything of importance to her was all back in Stars Hollow, waiting for her to come to her senses and return to the even-tempered, good-natured girl that everyone loved.

"Rory?"

She lifted her chin at the sound of her name. He rarely used her name, often choosing his own moniker for her. When he said it then, the sound of the two syllables on his tongue was as if he were trying it out with some amount of uncertainty, as if he were unsure that she'd respond to it.

"Yes?"

He considered his words. "It was nice not talking with you."

She smiled at the odd compliment. "Yeah. It was."

He gave her the briefest nod. "See you at school."

She stood there, against the decorative iron gates, watching as he retreated down the street, and finally turning the corner back toward school. If she was lucky, Emily would be busy with some function that evening and would barely have time to ask her how her day was and suggest, merely out of obligation, that she was free to call her mother if she felt up to it. After a few moments of peace, she was calmer than she'd been in days, and she felt up to the evasion if not the whole ugly truth. Maybe with a couple more days away from all the people she'd disappointed, she could go home and start to make amends on her own terms.


	2. Chapter 2

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

AN: You guys know how to encourage a girl. To answer the most pressing question, yes, this will be a multi-chapter story. I will be adding more, starting with this. I love that you all get it. I'll get to the good stuff, just keep the patience, grasshoppers. All in good time.

The final bell rang for the week, signifying a full two-day pass from the confines of uniforms in shades of blue and the pressures of a highly competitive playing field that often felt more like a war zone than a forum for learning. Friday afternoon was a time for rushing home to various forms of freedom and relishing in any number of manifestations of the teenage experience.

In a life such as Rory's, one that came with stipulations—the likes of which were ushered into her life in trade for a fine education at a top area school—that meant traveling to and from Hartford not only once for school, but back again in the evening for a formal dinner to check in with her grandparents who were more than happy to pay for her schooling as long as they reaped the benefits of their investment. To her mother, this was the ultimate concession—an invasion that she deserved for her failings. To Rory, it was reassuring in a way she'd never admit to her mother. Her grandparents, while set in their ways, were stable. Their lives did not change on a whim or bend to circumstances. Their involvement in her life was far more than financial.

But that Friday she'd had no commute. For the second full day, she'd woken up in a bed down the hall from her grandparents, as opposed to one adjacent to the kitchen where more often than not she emerged to be greeted by a hot pot of coffee for the taking. Coffee—she'd give her right arm for a sip of anything that resembled the hot liquid. She'd almost made away with a cup straight from the kitchen that morning, but Emily had come in to line out the dinner menu, and she'd had to pretend she was making a second cup for her grandmother. But the topic of Friday night's dinner had distracted her from her attempt at a fix. She hadn't given thought to the fact that her mother would be honoring her obligation that night, coming to dinner and probably wishing to take her daughter back home after what was already an extended grace period.

She took the time in the hallway after the final bell to double check the contents of her backpack against her planner, which was more than a life line as it was crammed with reading assignments, due dates, titles of books that she wanted to check out, and any other thing she might want to remember at a later date. Satisfied that it all matched up, she shoved the planner in between her books and zipped up the bag that was almost always straining at the abundance of its contents. The one trap in taking her time at school was the chance of running into familiar classmates—especially the trio that was approaching Paris Geller's locker at that very moment.

"You should come, Paris. Most of the summer's plans will be put into play at this party," Madeline encouraged, albeit in vain.

"I have plenty of plans for the summer already, Madeline. I'm working at a camp for underprivileged kids, building houses for the poor, and driving old people to and from acting classes."

Rory frowned at the array of activities. She couldn't hold back her question. "Acting classes?"

"It's never too late to learn a new skill," Paris snapped. "It's what they had open when I called to volunteer."

"Are you going to Drew Harrison's party this weekend?" Madeline asked Rory, her face ever innocent and agreeable. She had the most trouble remembering that Rory was on top of Paris' list of enemies, and therefore was to be ignored unless they were openly mocking her. Madeline was too gentle a spirit to properly serve Paris in a true mean-girl role. Rory often wondered just how they'd become close—and just how each would function without the others.

Rory figured she'd be in Stars Hollow that weekend, ending her coffee moratorium and listening to her mother spout on endlessly as she offered up details about her relationship with Max and assuring her that all that was on her mind would resolve itself. Rory wasn't in the mood for platitudes. She wasn't in the mood to assume that life would always work out for the best because the other option was too hard to think about. What if she had pushed her best friend away for good? They had enough differences to begin with, and with Rory leaving to go to a new school, it had strained their efforts over the past year. Even with as little as she got to see Lane, it would be impossible to avoid her, as it was impossible to avoid anyone in that town. She'd done her best to avoid Dean and it still hadn't been enough. She'd still seen his face, pained at the sight of her, more than she cared to remember. She knew she couldn't fix what was broken between them. Even if she wanted to try, it wouldn't be enough.

"I wasn't invited," Rory said quickly.

"Everyone's invited. And his house is legendary. There's a pool, a sauna, a hot tub, and a panic room," Louise purred.

"What's so great about a panic room?" Paris asked.

"Duh, it's sound-proof," Louise said, her tone dismissive. Then she smiled at Rory. "Plus, there's always snacks and drinks in there, if your energy starts to dwindle."

"I think I feel my energy dwindling right now," Paris groaned. "It must be all the brain cells that are wilting from hearing this conversation."

"It's the time to find out who's available and who's looking for an availability," Louise instructed. "Two summers ago, I didn't go to the right party and I got stuck prowling the country club pool. Granted, I was the hottest thing there, but still. Talk about slim pickings. I had to make out with a lifeguard," she shuddered.

"He was sixteen. And had abs that you could grate cheese on," Madeline reminded her, offering up some comfort.

"True. I've always had a thing for older boys. And hot abs. It didn't hurt that he was working off a community service stint," Louise remembered, seeming to grow nostalgic. She grinned at Rory in a manner that would put the Cheshire cat to shame. "I like 'em bad."

"Newsflash of the century, I think you just broke the AP wire feed," Paris said with a shake of her head and disdain in her voice.

"Tristan's single. And you know he'll be there. He's a fixture at these parties, and a man as fine as that will not stay alone for long," Louise pointed out.

"Been there done that," Paris uttered, trying to sound over the idea, but only managing to sound dejected and bitter.

"Well, I haven't," Louise said, with no sympathy or empathy or allegiance whatsoever. Even Rory cringed at the way Louise neglected her friend's feelings.

"No way would Tristan go for you," Madeline dismissed the idea, and Paris appeared visibly relieved.

"And why not?" Louise demanded.

"I think he prefers brunettes," Madeline finally said, as if noticing all the expectant eyes on her.

"Whatever. Go to your stupid party. But you'd be far better off lining up extracurricular activities that you wouldn't be ashamed to list on a college application," Paris said as she finished her business at her locker. "See you Monday," she offered to Rory as the group took their leave.

"Whatever," Rory said as an afterthought. She had nowhere to go but back to her grandparents, but at least she wouldn't have to deal with her school life invading her hometown in the form her of teacher stopping by to make small talk while he waited for her mother to get ready for their date. She heaved up the weight of her yellow backpack and made her way toward the main doors. She had nearly escaped the confines of the monstrous structure when she saw Tristan talking to some kid whose name she didn't know but vaguely recognized as one of a crowd that normally hung out in the good-looking blonde's vicinity. He patted the guy on the shoulder and called out to her.

"Rory."

She stopped in her tracks, confused. He'd been nice to her yesterday, allowing her companionship without anything else in return as she walked back to her grandparents' house. She felt no need to ignore him, though she couldn't imagine what he might want to discuss with her with such urgency that he'd end a conversation with someone he considered a friend.

He jogged over to her from across the expansive entry hall. "Hey."

She shifted the weight on her back, which shifted right back. "Hey."

"Are you still at your grandparents?"

She glanced around, though she wasn't sure who she was worried about overhearing such news. "Yeah."

He nodded. "There's a party this weekend. I thought if you were going to be around anyway, you should come."

"I probably won't be around," she said in a non-committed fashion. The brief wondering if he knew girls were hoping to sign him on for the summer months flittered through her mind, like some kind of athlete. No doubt he'd find himself well at ease in the confines of a panic room with whatever brunette caught his eye first.

"Oh. That's too bad," he said, his sentiment seemingly genuine as he frowned at her. She noticed his eyes darken as a small wrinkle formed over the bridge of his nose.

"It is?" she asked, unsure as to why he thought so. After all, their exchanges rarely led to anything fruitful, and when they didn't end up in some kind of bickering match they attracted some other kind of complication, usually in the form of an angry and spiteful Paris Geller.

He nodded. "You seemed like you could use time away from everything."

"And hanging out with a few hundred other kids would help?" she finished, a smile playing on her lips. It was laughable, the idea of one of those loud, crowded Chilton parties offering her any kind of solitude. She'd tried going to Madeline's last party, for a change of pace, and it had only ended up with her crying in her mother's lap. She didn't have that as an option this weekend. She also remembered that decision had resulted in the two of them kissing, which she was sure he didn't want to repeat. She hadn't kissed many guys, but she was pretty sure crying was not the desired reaction he'd been seeking. He'd played it off like it was no big deal when they talked about it later, but it was only logical that he would move on to some other girl that had a handle on her emotions—probably one that wouldn't mind being in a panic room long enough to require rehydration.

He shrugged. "It's usually easier to get lost in a crowd. It's why I'm going."

There was something distant, but familiar, in his voice. "I'll think about it."

He smiled. "Good."

She couldn't think of anything else to say, so she watched as he walked out the front doors. She wanted to ask him why he'd been so human to her the last couple of days. She wasn't even sure why she said she'd think about going to the party. She'd tried it once and never planned on putting herself through another similar ordeal. Of course, her usual means of entertainment on a Saturday night were fairly unlikely, for the coming weekend at least. She doubted she'd be hitting the local bookstore to see whatever movie they'd gotten a copy of for the general public's entertainment with Lane. She didn't feel like sitting through her mother's running commentary while watching movies, and her appetite was not up to one of their junk food nights. She might be able to pretend to be fine enough to return to her usual routine, but she wasn't a good enough actor to feign true compatibility. No one in Stars Hollow would be satisfied until she was back to her usual self. Trouble was, she wasn't sure who that was anymore.

-X-

The house was empty when she returned, and she decided to start her homework out in the nice weather. She went out to the back patio and glanced around at the artfully arranged flowerbeds. Emily Gilmore had an eye for many things, and flower gardening was definitely one of them. It was one of the few jobs she didn't hire out in her home, preferring to get her garden gloves dirty and taking pride in her handiwork. A building behind the main gardens caught her eye, one that she'd really never noticed before. Most of her time had been spent in the main house. Despite her love of flowers, Emily didn't relish inclement weather or actually getting anything other than her gloves dirty, so there had never been much chance to wander the grounds in their relatively short visits to the Gilmore estate. She walked around to the structure, surprised to find a pool out beyond it and an unlocked door. The décor inside was sparse, and fairly modern in comparison to the main house. There was a small kitchen. She put her bag down on the counter and roamed around aimlessly, opening cabinets and checking the fridge. Finding little other than dishes and drinks, though not the typical fare to be found in the main house, she sat down at the small table and pulled books out.

She didn't realize how late it was getting until it began to get dark. She left her books open, figuring it was the one place the maid wouldn't be sent to clean up. She'd gone on a thirty minute search the night before, looking for her trigonometry homework that she began before dinner. By the time she returned to her room, after listening to her grandparents have a rousing discussion about the merits of renewing their club membership versus stepping it down to a lesser level—which Emily had found to be a downright abject horror, for what their friends might speculate their reason for doing so might be. Richard thought that paying for services they never used and didn't have time for was the definition of foolhardiness. However, he was far less inclined to fight with his wife over such matters, so in the end it sounded as if they'd be upgrading to the highest level of membership. Rory had felt guilty, as one of Emily's bargaining tactics had been the fact that the higher level would allow them to extend the benefits of their membership to a set list of invited guests, so Rory could take full benefit of their membership as well. He wouldn't deny Rory, surely, Emily had posed. She excused herself then, not willing to be a pawn in their issues, only to find her homework tidied up to the point of being temporarily misplaced.

"There you are! I was frantic, where have you been?" Emily asked as Rory walked across the patio toward the main house.

"I didn't realize you had a pool," Rory answered, gesturing behind her.

"It's a little chilly to go for a swim," Emily admonished.

"No, I was in the pool house."

Emily stiffened. "What on earth were you doing in the pool house?"

"My homework. I figured it's the one place Maria wouldn't clean up all my books before I was done."

"Who's Maria?" Emily asked, her demeanor still hassled.

Rory frowned at her ignorance. "Your maid."

"She's bothering your homework? I'll have a talk with her. Come in, you need to change. Your mother will be here any minute," she said, ushering her inside.

"Change into what? All I have is my uniform and some pajamas," Rory said, trying to ignore the foreign feeling of dread at the thought of seeing her mother for the first time in a couple of days. She never imagined she'd feel that way. It was normal for Lorelai and Emily to have a strained relationship, but the difference with Rory was that she usually took on the role of peacekeeper. Rory was the even-tempered one. She'd had bursts of frustration, but nothing like what had built inside her lately. Things had gotten so that she had no idea what to expect from the impending gathering.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake. We'll find something, let's just get in the house," Emily urged, as Rory followed her into the main house and up the stairs.

-X-

Lorelai was downstairs in the parlor, nursing a martini across from Richard, who was reading the newspaper and ignoring his own drink, when Rory came downstairs, wearing a simple slip dress that had once been her mother's. One of the benefits of practically being her mother's clone, with only a few inherited characteristics from her father, was that they were not only the same dress size, but shoe size, as well as the fact that her mother had almost always had the fashion sense of a young adult. Rory trended toward the conservative side, but Lorelai's high school wardrobe had been overseen by Emily, so the slim selection from her pre-pregnancy clothes that remained had been easy for Rory to choose from.

Rory paused at the bottom of the stairs, standing just behind her mother. Emily swept to the bar, filling a soda for Rory before making her own martini. There was no situation too awkward to keep Emily from fulfilling her hostess duties.

"Good evening, Lorelai," Emily said. At his wife's voice, Richard lowered his newspaper. Rory remained still.

"Hey, Mom," Lorelai said, before turning to Rory. "Hi."

Rory nodded and went to grab her soda. "Hi."

Richard scooted to make room for Rory to sit next to him, rather than taking her usual seat next to her mother. Emily perched in her chair at the helm of the group.

"I brought you some stuff," Lorelai said after a long silence.

"Stuff?" Rory asked, holding her drink in two hands on her lap.

Lorelai nodded, her expression calm. Too calm. "Clothes, the book you're reading in Max's class, some make up, your extra uniform," she explained.

"You brought me stuff?" Rory asked, at once surprised and irritated at the notion.

Emily glanced between them. She tried to catch Richard's eye, who cleared his throat. "If you ladies will excuse me, I have a couple of calls to make before dinner."

"Don't you need things of your own, or has Mom taken you shopping?" Lorelai asked, almost knowingly.

"It's only been two days, Lorelai," Emily said, in an attempt to defuse the direction of the situation.

Lorelai turned and set her gaze on her daughter. Her calm was fading fast. "Were you planning on coming home tonight? I ask, because communication hasn't been your biggest strong suit of late, and I don't know if you're coming or going," she said weighing out the situation with her hands.

"Are you serious?" Rory asked, staring at her mother as if she'd lost her mind.

"About wanting to know your plans? Well, you are my sixteen-year-old daughter, so yeah, I'm serious about wanting to know your preferred address," Lorelai deadpanned.

"Well now that I have all my stuff, I can stay here longer, can't I?"

Lorelai stiffened. "I guess so. I guess you're thrilled about this, huh, Mom?"

"Excuse me?" Emily asked, insulted by the insinuation.

"It's what you always wanted, right? To have Rory here, with you," Lorelai explained.

"None of this is what I wanted. I never relish in tending to your messes, but I refuse to kick her out and let her run off to strangers, the way you did," Emily said in a heated tone.

Rory, tired of being drawn into fights that weren't her own, stood up and left the room, letting her mother and grandmother do what they did best—argue until they tired themselves out. She doubted the maid would dare interrupt them, so she'd scrounge the kitchen later for snacks. She made her way back to the hall, but instead of turning for the kitchen, she went the other direction and wound up outside her grandfather's den. She listened without wanting to disrupt him, as he spoke animatedly on the phone. He never seemed happier than when he was working. She often had no idea what it was that he actually did, but it was clear he was very good at doing whatever it was.

When he ended his call, she gave a tentative knock to his partially open door and wedged herself in the opening. "Grandpa? Am I interrupting?"

His head lifted and his eyes softened. "Rory, come in. I was on the phone with a client, but that's all done now. Would you like to sit down, or is dinner ready?"

She bit her lip as she cast a sideways peek out the door. "Actually, I'm not sure when we'll be eating. Mom and Grandma are… talking."

"Oh, I see. Well, then have a seat," he said, clearing his throat. He wasn't much for topic starters with his teenaged granddaughter, and was often glad for her to bring up a book she was reading or ask any number of intelligent questions about topics he enjoyed speaking about.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asked with hesitation weighing on her words.

He smiled warmly. "Anything you like."

"You said you knew the grandfather of a classmate of mine," she said.

"Did I?" he asked, not remembering the instance. She couldn't blame him—he'd been drinking and doing business at the event she referred to, her ill-fated sixteenth birthday party at that very house.

"Yes," she said assuredly with a nod.

"Who is this classmate?" he asked, trying to spark his memory.

"Tristan Dugrey," she said, though she raised her voice at the end as if she were asking a question.

"Oh, of course. I've known Janlen for years."

"Through work?" Rory inquired.

"Well, he's a client, technically, but when you've handled someone's account for that many years, they often become more like old friends. We have dinner together now and then, when he's in the country."

She frowned. "He's not often in the country?"

Richard considered the question. "The main portion of his business is in Provence, so he spends quite a bit of his time overseeing things there. He's actually been in Hartford more the last few years, due to family issues. And of course, he had a heart attack earlier this year, but he's doing very well now. I met with him last month, to go over new contracts. He sent a case of rosé last week. Excellent vintage. I suppose you don't know much about wine, though, do you?"

Rory shook her head. "Not really."

"Perhaps with dinner some night, you could try some. You're of legal age in Europe, I don't suppose enjoying a glass of good wine once in a while would hurt you."

Her eyebrows lifted. "He sent you a case of French wine just as a thank you? That sounds very generous."

Richard gave a hearty laugh. "He is a generous man, but that's his business. The Dugrey family runs one of the most successful wine importing operations on the East Coast. They started branching out, bringing some of their vines over to Hartford as well, but the majority of their profits come from Provence. It's a beautiful area. It should be on your list," he mentioned, knowing that she had an extensive travel wish list. "Did Tristan not mention any of this to you?"

She shook her head. "No. He… he mentioned a party tomorrow, if I was going to be in Hartford, he thought I might like to go."

"Would you?" he asked with mild interest.

She nodded. "If it's alright, since it looks like I'll be here for a while longer. I won't stay out too late."

He gave her a comforting smile. "I'm glad you're here, Rory. I don't know what's going on between you and your mother, but I'm pleased that you feel comfortable enough with us to stay. It's a pleasure being able enjoy your company like this."

Rory smiled at his sentiment, but she couldn't help but feel a nagging sensation in her stomach. She could play it off as hunger, as it was well past dinner time, but she knew it was more than that. "I'll let you get back to work. I have some homework to get out of the way."

Richard stood, as he did whenever a lady left his presence. "I'll have the maid send you up a tray later, after things have quieted down a bit," he said, in a way that said everything. That it was okay, that everything would go back to normal at some point, even if it wasn't tonight. She'd be taken care of in the meantime.

"Maria," she said in response. "The maid's name is Maria."

"Is it? Good to know," he said with a wink. Rory closed the door gingerly as she exited the office. She cut through the kitchen, but instead of checking on the state of tension in the sitting room, she exited out the back door and decided to finish her homework in the quiet and calm of the otherwise unused pool house. She'd go through what her mother had brought for her in the morning, and after that perhaps she'd go to a party. After all, it seemed she was going to be in Hartford anyway. Maybe she'd test Tristan's theory that it was easier to be alone in a crowd of strangers. If it didn't work out, she always had the pool house.


	3. Chapter 3

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

If it was a crowd she was in search of, she'd definitely come to the right party. Rory wasn't even sure there were as many people enrolled at Chilton as were roaming around the grounds of Drew Hamilton's house. It didn't surprise her that she didn't really recognize most of the faces that she passed as she wandered up the front lawn and in through the front of the house. What surprised her more was that she kept pressing on, in search of whatever it was that had driven her to agree to show up at all.

Her grandmother had been kind and accepting in the most maddening way all day. She was so nice, in fact, at every turn, that Rory half expected a doctor to show up at dinner to inform her that she had some kind of terminal disease. The only time Emily hadn't immediately given way to any request of hers was when Rory announced her plan to go to the party. Emily started to suggest that perhaps Rory would benefit from turning in early after such an emotional turn of events, but Rory was quick to add that Richard had already told her it was alright as long as she didn't stay out too late.

Rory couldn't imagine that she'd break that promise, either, even if she managed to wind her way around the entirety of the colossal mansion before taking her leave. Louise's lure of the many water features didn't appeal to her—not only was her bathing suit in Stars Hollow, but she wasn't keen on donning it in front of the hypercritical eyes of her female classmates—let alone the leering eyes of her male counterparts. The only thing that had sounded truly unique, or at least more out of a movie than real life, was the panic room.

Figuring the line of couples waiting for the privacy of such a structure at a teenage party rife with any number of libations, the largest of which was a lack of adult supervision, Rory took it upon herself to direct her self-guided tour of the party toward that very end. Her mother always told her to look in rich people's sock drawers—she felt she owed it to herself to see what they kept inside their panic rooms as well. Panic room had to trump sock drawer on the rich person hidden stash scale.

She found no long lines of lovers, but she did think she found her target after she got through the heavier crowd of dancers and on past the lesser crowd of mingling couples, lost in their own little worlds. She discovered her theory was unsound, however, once she opened the heavy-grade door only to find a pantry that was bigger than her bedroom at home.

"Looking for something?"

She whirled around, surprised and feeling a little guilty at being caught out at snooping, only to find a bemused Tristan Dugrey watching her, in his khaki shorts and a button-up shirt open over his form-fitting grey t-shirt. She noticed instantly that grey made his blue eyes stand out even more than the blues of their school uniform. "Oh, uh, sort of."

"I take it you weren't hungry?" he asked, clearly knowing just what she had found.

She shook her head faintly. The only thing she was really craving was coffee—not a staple of teenage parties. "Not really."

He leaned in toward her. "So what were you looking for?"

She felt foolish saying the words out loud, but short of lying to him, she wasn't going to get out of admitting her destination. He didn't deserve to be lied to, not by her. Not for to protect her vanity of all things. She was sure his opinion of her was well formed. "Louise said there was a panic room somewhere in the house."

His eyes brightened at the mention. He cleared his throat. "Louise is often alarmingly knowledgeable about such things."

Rory couldn't hide her smile. "Do you know where it is?"

He jerked his head to the side. "This way."

She followed him, half a pace behind his strides, as he navigated them back through the crowd and to a staircase that led them down past where far more couples were glued together, busy determining their social status for the summer to come. Rory tried not to be too obvious as she took notice of each pair, marveling at the way they shut out their surrounding as if they were in a truly private space. Before she could feel too voyeuristic, she and Tristan reached a lower level, which housed a pool table and a small hallway beyond that.

He nodded to a couple of guys who greeted him around the table, but he kept walking, leading her to the small hallway. Once they got to the end, he tapped on the door with his knuckles.

"We have arrived," he said in a wholly unimpressed tone.

She eyed it cautiously. "Is it empty?"

He grabbed the handle and pulled. "One way to find out."

She put her hand on his arm, successfully halting him. "What if there are people in there-," she began, cutting off before giving him a vivid image that she was sure he didn't need help conjuring.

He smiled down at her as her hand remained on his arm. "Then they'll learn to lock the door next time. Besides, it's early. This thing won't be in use until the first couple of beers sink in."

He pushed the door open and gestured for her to enter. "Go on."

She stepped up into the room, not bothering to glance back to see if he were behind her. She explored the walls, lined with custom-built shelves and cabinets amid a control panel and an emergency phone, feeling nothing like Jodie Foster. She turned to the door, where Tristan was watching her inspection.

"Aren't you curious?" she asked. "You can come in and check it out if you want."

He scratched the back of his head. "I've actually seen it."

His meaning wasn't lost on her. "Oh. Right."

"Was it everything you were expecting?" he asked as she emerged from the small room.

"It's just a room," she said with disappointment. She wasn't sure why it was a letdown. It was just a claustrophobic's nightmare, a place to trap yourself. She did her best not to see the metaphor for her own life at the moment. "Nothing special."

"I guess it would depend on whom you're with while you're in there," he mused, making her wonder just whom he'd been in there with—or if there'd been more than one instance with any number of girls.

"I guess so," she said as she eyed a set of French doors that led outside from across the open area. The thought occurred to her that she wouldn't have to fight her way back out through the crowd to make her departure. She could slip out quietly when Tristan excused himself and went back to join the party.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asked.

Her attention snapped back to the present moment, rather than her near future. "Sure."

"Why did you come tonight?" he asked, with true curiosity.

She was taken off guard by the question. Her real answer would be vague and unsatisfying at best. She frowned at him. "You invited me."

"Seriously?" he asked, fixing his eyes on her in such a way that she was reminded of the sight on a gun. His intensity often made her uncomfortable, but he was so close to her now and the likelihood of someone coming to diffuse the situation was low. At school, there was always a teacher or a classmate that would invariably give her some kind of reprieve. They rarely separated themselves off, giving a chance for this level of intimacy. She had found that she was rather impulsive under such intense situations. She was also quite sure that being impulsive with Tristan was more than she could handle at the moment. All she could hope for was his ability to be an arrogant ass to present itself and help maintain plenty of distance between them.

"Didn't you?" she asked as she folded her arms over her chest, ready to take a defensive stance in case his softer gentler side was a thing of the past.

"You've never wanted to go anywhere with me before," he said firmly. He was trying to prove some kind of point, which she could almost always count on driving some kind of wedge between them.

"You didn't ask me to come here with you," she corrected, easily provoking him further.

"So, if I had, then you wouldn't have come at all?" he asked, his voice sharp. It wasn't defensive, rather it sounded as if the damage of the insinuation had already been done.

"I didn't say that. I realize you probably just told me about it because you felt sorry for me, or something, but I'm fine. I came, I saw, and you did your duty. If hanging out with me is a burden for you, then you can go find someone else you'd rather spend time with," she offered, thinking then she could just exit out the French doors and make her way back to the solitude of her grandparents' pool house. It was no panic room, but it would suffice for her needs. She didn't need his pity or his attention. She certainly didn't need to take part in his mind games.

"Who, like Paris?" he came back at her, still sounding put out at some injustice that she'd caused him.

"Like anyone you want to be with, Tristan! I'm sorry I tried to set you up, is that what you want to hear? That it was all my fault, that I pushed you to date someone with a brain and it failed?" she asked heatedly, arguing with him for the first time in what seemed like months. "I guess I can see where kissing Paris would be a traumatic experience, but I didn't put a gun to your head and force you to do that either!"

"I don't want you to apologize for anything. I just find it ironic that you're standing there in front of me, telling me that I can just have whatever girl that I truly want."

She rolled her eyes. "Can't you? Do you really need the ego boost of hearing me tell you? I know you have excellent hearing; surely you've heard how girls talk about you. It's borderline pornographic," she spat out at him.

"I'm not talking about other girls," he shot back, his eyes blazing—showing that his frustration had reached a pinnacle. She still didn't exactly know what it was they were fighting about, other than the fact that his ego was in need of a serious deflation. It needed enough other regular maintenance, she assumed.

"Then what, Tristan?" she demanded, wanting to end the confusion between them. It had been so easy to be near him of late—that had been a contributing factor to her attending the party. He didn't look at her with pity or give in too easily to her, to avoid upsetting her. He had proved repeatedly that he didn't mind getting under her skin—not bothering to back off when he pushed her too far. At the moment, he was the most infuriating person she'd ever known.

"For such a smart girl, it's like you have blinders on," he said, stepping close to her and invading her personal space. "Do you really not see how people feel about you at all?"

She felt like he'd struck her in the chest. She turned away from him, wishing for the safety of the panic room. "That does seem to be the consensus."

"What's that mean?"

She turned to see that he hadn't advanced on her again. His expression had changed from frustration to confusion. She lifted her eyes to his. "Dean. He said something similar, right after he told me he loved me, and then broke up with me."

He took a step closer then, slow in his approach, cognizant of the need to not spook her further. "That's why he broke up with you?"

She nodded, numbly. "It was awful," she said with a whisper. "He told me he loved me and I just couldn't say anything. He was so mad," she said, shaking her head at the memory. She couldn't close her eyes, running the risk of seeing his face again. That would bring tears, and she didn't want to cry again.

"Because you didn't say it back?" he asked, grasping the situation.

She nodded. "I felt like I should—I know he thought I would. But apparently I'm horrible at reading how people feel and what they want. I couldn't even argue when he broke up with me, because he was right to do it. He put himself out there, and I just left him hanging. And ever since, the town has been so mean to him, even though I'm the one," she trailed off, sniffling to keep any attempt for fresh tears at bay.

"That's why you're in Hartford?" he surmised.

She shrugged, diverting her eyes to the doors again. "Pretty much. I mean, there's more to it than that, but it's…pretty much." There was silence between them after that. She looked up at him with glassy blue eyes. "Have you ever told anyone?"

"That I loved them?" he asked, keeping his eyes on hers. If he was surprised at the question, he didn't show it. His expression was calm and reticent. "No."

"It wasn't supposed to be like that. I was supposed to feel it too, right? I mean, if someone loves you, you love them back," she stated, trying to argue with her own feelings.

"Then why is there such a thing as unrequited love?" he asked, a show of support for her failing.

She bit her lip as she considered his question. "There shouldn't be. It's terrible to cause someone that kind of pain."

He let out a breath, slow and measured. "Look, it's a risk we all take. Not everyone we love is going to love us back, not in the same ways," he said with a wisdom that surprised her.

"You sound like you know a lot about the subject," she offered generously. She was amazed at the way he had gone from irritated at her to now being supportive. He didn't suggest that she could do no wrong simply because of who she was; he was just willing to see her perspective. It was a relief to finally get all of the pent-up feelings out of her without being coddled or chastised.

"I thought you were under the impression that I could have any girl I wanted," he said, his words gruffer than before. She wondered if it pained him to be nice to her.

"Maybe I misjudged you," she said softly. "I'm not good at reading people, remember?"

"Right," he said with a faint laugh, as it were some kind of twisted joke, but he kept observing her with rapt attention. He had a way of watching her, like he couldn't quite believe she was near him.

"Madeline said this party was for people to figure out what they'd be doing all summer. Is that why you came?" she asked, when their conversation waned, hoping to find out just what his motivations were.

He shook his head, distracted for a moment. "No. I know what I'll be doing all summer."

Her posture relaxed, as the topic of conversation shifted to less jarring topics, or so she thought. "And what will you be doing?"

He looked away from her then, and she thought the temperature in the room shifted. "I'll be in France."

"You don't sound excited," she said, thinking of embarking on a trip that was on her list of places to see in her lifetime. It was a long list, and she'd be thrilled to start anywhere.

He shrugged, still not meeting her expectant eyes. "It's complicated."

"Things usually are, I guess," she offered lamely. She couldn't do anything to help his situation, just as he couldn't erase her pain. Nonetheless, she couldn't push away the thought that being with him was easier than anything else at the moment. He made her feel things strongly enough to act on them, even if it was just confusion and frustration.

His eyes were hopeful as he turned his attention back to her. "Did you really come because I asked you to?"

"I don't really know why I've done a lot of things lately," she answered him honestly. She wasn't worried about telling him things he wanted to hear—she never had been concerned about what he thought of her. In fact, she'd gotten quite used to deflecting him and his attention at all costs, but now she found herself unable to push him away. His worst sin was his inflated sense of self—and that had no capability to hurt her. They were just two lost souls, giving the other a reason to distract themselves for a while. "But I wouldn't have come, if you hadn't suggested it."

He nodded at her words, accepting them for what they were. There was no intent to extract meaning that wasn't there. His demeanor made her sad, and she nearly wished for a more combative version of him.

"I should probably go soon," she announced, breaking from her thoughts. "I promised my grandmother I wouldn't be late."

"Did you drive?" he asked.

"Oh, no. I walked. It's not far."

He frowned at the information. "You aren't planning on walking home, are you?"

She nodded with emphasis. "Yes."

He shook his head. "I'll take you. I have my car."

She straightened her back. "You don't need to do that, it's not that far."

His expression conveyed that he wasn't going to listen to her argument. "I know how far it is, and I know it's dark."

"I'm sure you have better things to do than cut out early and take me home," she said, not sure if she were offering him an out or trying to give herself one.

"Why can't you ever just accept my offer graciously?" he demanded. "Is there some reason you don't want me to give you a ride home?"

She set her jaw. "Other than the fact that it's not necessary? No."

"I mean, you invited me in there with you earlier," he said, pointing to the panic room, "and my car won't put us in as nearly close of quarters, if that's what you're afraid of."

Her mouth dropped open. "I'm not afraid. And I didn't invite you in there," she protested.

A wicked smile played at the corners of his lips. "Yes, in fact, you did."

"I just thought… I mean, shut up," she demanded as her memory failed her further argument.

"You let me walk you home the other day. Think of it like that, but with leather seats and music."

"Why are you being nice to me?" she asked, not intending on harassing him for making a considerate gesture. After all, it wasn't a route she was used to, and it was dark. No matter how expensive the houses were, it didn't make the streets safe for a teenage girl to walk after dark alone. Her grandmother would probably want to give him a medal for his chivalry. "You've appointed yourself as my personal chaperone, and you're the only person I know who hasn't been trying to placate me or push me to deal with anything."

"Do you want a ride home, or don't you?" he asked simply, evading her questions.

"Sure," she said, deflated suddenly.

"Then let's go," he said, turning to the French doors and letting them out into the cool night air. She shivered as the air hit her shoulders, and suddenly the spring-like dress that had been fine in the daylight hours felt insufficient. Without a word, he took off his over-shirt and put it around her shoulders. The gesture itself made her as warm as the fabric protecting her bare skin from the breeze.

"Thank you," she said simply. She kept her eyes on the lawn in front of her as she walked next to him in the dark. It seemed all the lights were on in the house, casting oblong yellow shadows across the back of the property as they walked in and out of them, toward the street.

"Contrary to what you might believe about me, I do have manners. I wasn't raised in a barn," he joked easily as he opened the passenger side door for her once they reached his car. He'd parked on the street, back from the main driveway, as if he'd planned on leaving earlier than the majority of the crowd. Most kids had parked in a mash on the driveway, most of which pinned in until traffic began to flow away from the house in a mass exodus.

She paused at the side of the car, in the wake of the door he held. "Hey, watch it. I lived in a shed when I was younger."

He gazed down at her from his place at her side. "Not a shoe?"

She smiled at his joke. "I'm serious."

He grew contemplative at her admission. "And which do you prefer, the shed or the mansion?"

She chewed on her bottom lip. It wasn't something anyone had ever asked her, or something she'd given much thought to. She couldn't imagine anyone, her mother notwithstanding, not preferring to live in a place such as her grandparents, with its amenities and grandeur, but it felt so impersonal and extravagant to her. They might not have had much when they resided in their little shed, but they'd been happy there, together. "I'm not sure."

"You keep saying that, but I think you are sure. I think there are just a lot of things you're afraid of saying out loud," he informed her as his eyes seemed to penetrate her. She stood there, leaning against his car, warmed by his shirt, and struck immobile by his words.

"Tristan," she said, emotion catching on his name as she spoke it.

"You don't have to hold anything back from me. It's not like you care about my opinion of you, do you?"

Her eyes widened at his assessment, as if he'd been able to read her mind all along. And if he could, then what choice did she have than total honesty? "I've pushed everyone else away. I'm so tired of being this glorified version of myself. I'm not the good little girl everyone thinks I am. The person you think I am."

He leaned in closer to her, as if he were about to tell her a secret in return. "I don't think you're that girl at all."

It struck her then, exactly why she'd come that night. It was freedom she was looking for, in a way that she'd never experienced it before. To be with someone that had no expectation from her-someone she could say anything to. To be with him. She wondered if he knew that, too. Her heart sped up at the thought. "We should go."

He nodded slowly. He was still close and still vigilant. "Whenever you're ready."

She searched his eyes for a minute, wondering just when Tristan Dugrey had become the person that understood her the most. It was would have been laughable, the very idea, had she not been frozen in place between his body and his car, wanting the night to go on just a little while longer. But he didn't hurry her along or tease her for her inability to tear herself away from him, as she might have expected. Instead he just remained still, his breath steady and his eyes on her. She finally did turn and slip inside his car, the soft leather cool under her bare legs. She closed her eyes for a moment, waiting for him to walk around to the driver's side door. For the first time in a while, she didn't see Dean's face. But what she did see was yet something else she wasn't ready to say out loud either.

Her grandmother was waiting up for her, when she approached the front door that evening. Before she let herself into the house, she'd watched as Tristan's car had circled around the drive and disappeared onto the street. Emily's disposition was unnaturally sunny, as it had been all day, as if she'd felt it was her responsibility to act as if everything were just fine for Rory's sake. Rory thought how very exhausting it must be to keep up in the face of her current circumstances. At least with Lorelai, Emily had let out all her pent-up frustration, and vice-versa.

"Did you have a nice time?" Emily asked, watching Rory for any sign of emotional disturbance.

Rory gave her grandmother a faint smile. "Actually, I did."

Emily smiled, genuinely pleased. "Wonderful. Did one of your classmates give you a ride home?"

Rory nodded. "Yes. It got too dark to walk," she explained.

"Well, that was very thoughtful."

Rory nodded, lost in her thoughts for a moment. "It was."

"I should get to bed. It's late. I'll see you in the morning?"

Rory blinked suddenly, realizing she was still mentally back in his car, able to feel his arm when he shifted gears next to her as they rode in silence back to her grandparents' house. They'd ridden in silence, without her even having to give him a single direction—as if they'd made the same trip innumerable times. She'd thanked him as her hand rested on the handle of her door. She knew good night was all there was left to say, but there was hesitation swirling around her. Finally he'd said her name as he watched her stall, and the sound of his voice—the way his tongue had rolled the R's in her name as if they were made of velvet—had triggered her to say goodnight before she let anything impulsive occur. She realized only now that she was inside the house and he was blocks away that she was still wearing his shirt over her dress. "Thanks for last night. Whatever you said to Mom," she began.

Emily put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. "Think nothing of it. You're welcome to stay as long as it takes for the two of you to work things out."

Her whole life seemed upside down and inside out—and that night had only served to highlight just how much it had changed. But she wondered if her circumstances had changed, or if it was just her that had changed causing everything else to shift. She was beginning to think that however she mended all that she'd broken, certain things would never go back to how they once were. She took off his shirt and hung it over the back of the desk chair across from her bed. The thought wasn't the tragedy it had been only a few hours before in her mind. She slipped under the covers, falling instantly to sleep without another thought to any of her problems.


	4. Chapter 4

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

Having money didn't eradicate problems, but there was one drawback to a life of luxury that Rory Gilmore hadn't counted on—something she discovered via a rude awakening on her first Sunday morning at her grandparents' home. It was her typical day to sleep in, even if she tended to rise before her truly nocturnal mother, and it was a ritual she cherished. Sundays were generally less activity-filled than any other day, and she was always happy for the extra shut eye that came along with a lighter schedule. She discovered that one person that didn't veer from their set schedule on Sundays was Emily Gilmore's maid, who knocked loudly on her door at seven sharp, ready to strip her sheets and gather all her other laundry for cleaning.

So it was at approximately two minutes after seven in the morning that she dragged her weary body down the stairs, with a serious case of bedhead while decked out in her ice-cream cone pajamas that her mother had brought for her, amongst other belongings, Friday night for her extended stay in Hartford. Sleep was still heavy in her eyes, and her feet barely lifted off the floor in a prolonged shuffle as she made the journey to the dining room. Her intent was to register a complaint about the wake-up call after she finished yawning, hoping Emily would agree to call off her maid until perhaps mid-morning in the future. What she hadn't expected was to find her grandparents, fully dressed for the day on either end of the dining table, which was perfectly set around a generous breakfast spread. Not only were they dressed and running at full speed, they had company. Three surprised individuals turned to see the sight of a barely awake Rory as she entered the room.

"Ohmygod," Rory muttered under her breath as she allowed her eyes to close again, wishing for a time machine to transport her back to up her room, where she might decide to at least run a brush through her hair before coming down the stairs. If nothing else, she'd hope that she was in the midst of one of those embarrassing dreams, where people from one area of her life made surprise appearances in another, and she showed up for all the mash-up in inappropriate attire. She was grateful that instead of being naked, as was so often the case in such dreams, she was merely wearing crazy pajamas. She was certainly tired enough for it to all be a dream. But when she opened her eyes to see the three sets of unblinking eyes kept staring at her, she was left wondering what the likelihood of them believing that she was simply sleep-walking was.

"I believe you know our granddaughter," Richard said at last, when it became apparent that not only was this happening, but her grandfather was going to prolong the situation by making introductions.

"Where are your clothes?" Emily asked pointedly at Rory, skipping the niceties of pretending that nothing was out of the ordinary.

"Maria took them," Rory said, in an equally annoyed tone. "Along with my sheets."

"Of course she did, it's Sunday," Emily said, without further discussion on the matter. "I suppose you might as well sit down to breakfast."

Rory reached for the coffee carafe when she saw that Tristan had been served it already. From the looks of things, he'd nearly finished a cup. She wondered just how long he'd been down there with her grandparents before she showed up.

"That's for guests," Emily corrected her, handing her the juice instead.

"But, it's seven in the morning. On a Sunday," Rory said, watching as the coffee migrated away from her grasp via her grandmother's hand. "And he got some. He's sixteen, too," she complained.

"Actually, I'm seventeen," Tristan spoke up for the first time since she'd made her appearance.

"And he's here on business," Emily said. "Whereas you look like you've been receiving electroshock treatments," she added, clearly repressing an urge to tame Rory's hair herself.

"Thank you for seeing me this early on a weekend. It was very important to my grandfather that this be handled quickly," Tristan said, his full attention on Richard.

"He's one of my best clients. I have no set hours for my best clients," Richard said graciously. "Please pass on my well wishes."

Tristan stood up as their business concluded. Richard stood to shake his hand. "I will."

"I'll have the contracts done before the end of the day. He can rest easy knowing that this will all be taken care of before the week even begins."

"And do tell your grandmother that I'm happy to take over any functions she's unable to chair," Emily added, a touch of sympathy in her voice. Rory watched it all like a spectator, having nothing to add, but a million questions surfacing in her mind. Her grandparents stayed at the table as Tristan turned to exit to the foyer. Rory pushed back from her chair, leaving her juice untouched, and took off after him.

"Tristan, wait," she called out as she closed the gap between them. He paused and turned, eyeing her from toe to head.

"Nice pajamas."

She bent her chin to her chest and put a hand on her flannel-covered stomach. "They weren't meant for a wider audience," she said as she lifted her chin back up to face him.

"Did you come out here to tell me you don't always look like that in the mornings?" he mused, his serious visage from the dining room replaced by an amused glint in his eyes.

"No. I pretty much always look like this in the morning. Well, I mean, I have other pajamas. Ones with coffee cups and another with snowmen drinking hot chocolate, which I never understood. If they drank the hot chocolate, they'd melt, wouldn't they?" she asked, posing a question he was fairly sure she didn't need answered.

"Why do all your pajamas have food on them?" he asked with greater interest.

She frowned as she considered the query. "Well, only the flannel ones have food on them. I pretty much just sleep in a tank top and underwear in the summer, when it's hot," she said, though she instantly wished to wake up from the dream she must certainly be having at that point. She wasn't sure she'd ever had such an embarrassing dream before in her life, clothed or otherwise.

He leaned in, lest her grandparents be listening, and whispered his next inquiry. "And what is on those, exactly?"

She blushed a furious shade of pink. She would not discuss her underwear with him. "I have your shirt."

He raised a lazy eyebrow, though his smirk remained, as did the glee in his dark blue eyes. "My shirt?"

She nodded, wishing for a complete change of subject to take. "From last night."

"So, you have my shirt, but none of your clothes?" he asked, having taken notice of everything said in the dining room, she realized.

Her eyes widened. "Oh. She might have taken your shirt too," she realized. "I can get it back to you later. But would you mind if I didn't bring it to school?"

He cocked his head as his eyes lost some of their delight. "Why?"

She shifted her weight and cleared her throat. "Well, it's just, if people see us exchanging clothing, it might, I mean," she hedged her words, not wanting to sound as stupid and childish as the thought was coming out. She wished she could blame her still sleepy mind, but she was fairly sure she'd be just as inept in her explanation were she pumped full of coffee or other legal stimulants.

He, however, wanted to drive home just how her words sounded. "You don't want anyone to think that we're dating."

She frowned at him, frustrated that he was twisting her words. "No, I mean, that's no one's business. It's not true, anyway, but if we were, it's just… I hate the idea of being another topic of gossip. They all talk about me anyway, first because I was new, then because I'm poor, and now because of my mother and," she said, biting her lip to keep her from rambling on about the romance between her mother and their Lit teacher. "I'm tired of being the topic of conversation. Okay?"

He nodded, effectively quieted. "Okay. What are you doing later this afternoon?"

She shrugged, noting that he hadn't argued with her—which confirmed her beliefs. "Nothing. Why?"

His head tilted toward the dining room. "I thought maybe you'd like to go get some coffee away from prying eyes," he said with a knowing smile. "You got shut down pretty fast in there."

Rory groaned. "You have no idea. She cut me off, cold turkey."

"So, that's a yes to coffee? You can bring the shirt and get away from here for a couple of hours."

Her expression was beyond accepting. She could practically taste the nectar she craved. She could also nearly hear Luke's proclamation of what an addict she was. "That sounds great. After lunch?"

He nodded. "I'll come back then."

She smiled. "Great."

He shot her a quizzical expression, but he didn't disagree with her assessment openly. He was through the door only a second later, and she returned to the dining room, where her grandfather had lost himself in the daily newspaper. Emily, however, seemed to be awaiting her return.

"Did you not even look in a mirror before you left your room?" Emily asked, still bewildered by her granddaughter's appearance.

"No. The sun's barely up, on a Sunday. Why on earth would I expect to run into someone from school in your dining room?"

"You're lucky he's such a gentleman. He didn't even show a single sign of surprise at your appearance. Are those ice cream cones dancing?"

Rory sighed. She might rethink her sleep attire, had it not been so comfortable. "I think so. It's not as if I hindered Grandpa's business, did I?"

Emily paused, bested in that regard. "I suppose not. They were done by the time you showed up anyhow. I'd only just come in myself. I insisted Tristan eat something; I know for a fact that his mother has an atrocious cook on staff, and she only lets her make things that are raw and vegan or some such nonsense. The last time we had to suffer through a dinner party there, I swear their lawn looked more appetizing," Emily shuddered with remembrance. "And he looked thin. Didn't he look thin, Richard?"

Richard barely lifted his gaze from the top of the paper. "The boy looked just fine, Emily. He's been staying with Janlen and Sophia, anyhow, so he's had plenty of red meat."

"Janlen needs to stay away from the red meat, but he's probably as good at following doctor's orders as you are," she said in an accusatory manner. "If you don't stop eating steak behind my back, I'll hire Clare's cook from under her."

Richard lowered the paper in the middle to assess her sincerity. "Let's not be so rash, Emily. My last physical's results were very pleasing to Dr. Emery."

"Yes, well, I for one would hate to see such fine men as you and Janlen taken out by prime cuts of cow and a lack of self-control."

"I appreciate your concern, Emily, and I assure you I take my health seriously. I can't speak for Janlen, but I do know that he's very concerned about maintaining his legacy. He'll be prepared, regardless of how much longer his health holds."

"Is he sick?" Rory asked, interrupting at last.

"He's getting older. He's had some health scares. It's smart for him to tie up loose business ends," Emily explained quickly.

Rory paused, picking at the pastry that was on her plate. "Why's he in such a hurry?"

Emily glanced at Richard, who kept mum. "He and his son have very different views on life, let alone on business. Janlen had always hoped that his son would change his ways, but things have never gotten anything but worse between them. And with Cade taking after Parry, well, it's a recipe for disaster for the company once Janlen is no longer in the position to remain at the helm."

Rory shook her head in confusion. "Who's Parry?"

Richard spoke up at last. "Janlen's son—Tristan's father."

Rory nodded in understanding. "And who's Cade?"

"Tristan's older brother," Emily said supplied, as if it were redundant information. "I thought you knew Tristan."

Rory's eyes widened as she sat back in her chair. "I thought I did too."

-X-

Rory waited out on the curb, with a book shoved in her purse along with the money Richard had slipped her when she informed them of her plans for an afternoon out with a friend. She tapped her open palms on her knees as she waited. She'd been glad to find her clothes returned after she'd gone back up to her room after breakfast. She had his shirt folded in her lap and was wearing her own comfortable jeans and a simple top—featuring no food items or any other print to comment on.

She stood when his car approached, which slowed a good block from her before stopping shy of her, though she remained off the road. She stepped to the door, and he lowered the window.

"Hop in," he said easily.

She did as he instructed, and held his shirt out to him once she'd gotten settled. He'd yet to put the car back in gear. "Thanks for letting me borrow it. I didn't mean to keep it—I didn't even realize I was still wearing it until after you left."

He gazed at her quizzically. "It's just a shirt. You can toss it in the back."

She did as he suggested, though she was having trouble suppressing all the personal questions she'd built up after listening to her grandparents as they discussed his family's business issues over breakfast. She supposed if she was grateful for the break in questions about her personal life, he felt much the same. It would be one thing if he brought it up, but she'd do her best to just enjoy a casual outing for coffee.

"Where to?" he asked, putting the car into first and easing on the gas pedal.

She sat back in her seat. "Coffee, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah, but that leaves us with about a hundred options in Hartford alone," he pointed out. "And if you're such an addict, then you probably have a favorite, right?"

She smiled, but concentrated on her hands. Her fingernails were unpolished, as they always were. Most of her appearance could be described as plain. She wore little make-up, she rarely did much with her hair, and her clothes didn't draw attention. In fact, she often was surprised that anyone took much notice of her at all. No one had ever singled her out quite the way Tristan had. From the first moment he saw her, he made her aware that he had taken notice. "We don't have to go to my favorite place. Besides, it's kind of far," she added, confirming his suspicions that she was partial to a certain establishment.

"How far? I'm in no hurry."

She chewed her lip. If she told him, he might push her to go despite her misgivings. If she told him, she'd be unable to stop him without jumping from a moving vehicle, if he decided to go without regard to her reservations. She wasn't privy to his motivations, but she wasn't in the position to argue with the guy that was going to take her to get coffee after so many days without, either. Luke was right; she was as bad as her mother when it came to coffee. "Luke's," she said, almost absently.

"Luke's? I don't know it," he said.

"It's a diner. In … Stars Hollow. But we can go somewhere else. I'm sure Hartford has good coffee. Not comparable, but drinkable. At this point, I'm not picky," she said, trying to assure both her and him.

He listened to her, arguing with herself more than him. He made a turn that she knew well, and her stomach lurched. "Why did you leave?"

She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the familiar landscape out the window. "I had a fight with my mom."

He gave a grunt of empathy. "About what?"

She opened her eyes then and tried to get lost in the blur outside the window as he picked up speed. "She said something, to Dean. She cornered him at the market and gave him a piece of her mind. Which was bad enough, but I'd just had a fight with my best friend, who had been hiding the fact that she was Dean's science partner and had been working with him every night that week, because she didn't want to make me sadder."

He let out a low whistle. "And you hadn't told either of them, why…?"

She shook her head. "No," she managed. "Anyway, Mom stopped at the market, where Dean works, and she gave me a hard time about not wanting to go in. She finally told me to go ahead home, and I just realized, I didn't want to go home. I didn't want to keep dealing with it. I was tired of avoiding places in town, on the chance he might be there, and avoiding people who were worried about me, and worrying that the people that love me were being mean to Dean," she said, letting out a long sigh. "I was tired. So I called a cab and came to Hartford."

"And now, are you afraid that if you go back, you'll run into Dean or your mother," he led.

She shook her head. "No. Dean hasn't been in Luke's since Luke put him in a headlock when he tried to come in the diner the morning after he broke up with me," she said, earning a pleased, if surprised, expression from her driver, "And Mom always works Sundays. At least, after noon."

"I like the sound of this Luke guy. Good coffee and he put Dean in a headlock? Sounds like a guy I could get along with."

She turned to him, unable to hold back her curiosity. "Why do you dislike Dean so much?"

Tristan scoffed. "He called me an accountant."

"So? That's hardly an insult," she reasoned.

He let out a hassled breath. "It was the way he said it. He was a dick to me, and he didn't know me. Why should I have been nice to him?"

She shrugged. She couldn't argue that point. "He told me that night that you had a thing for me."

Tristan's whole body tensed. His knuckles went white for a moment as they gripped the steering wheel. She took the opportunity to study him as he reacted. "Funny, I don't remember confiding my personal desires in him. I do remember wanting to hit him in the face," he said, relaying the memory of the dance.

"I told him he was insane," she said dismissively.

"You did?"

"Of course," she said, turning back to him. "He has a tendency to be jealous and over-protective, out of love apparently. And you had a point—why should you be nice to someone that was mean to you first? It had nothing to do with me."

He turned to her, almost forgetting the road for a second. "Do you often take yourself out of the equation like that? I get where it would be useful to extract yourself to view things logically, but you might be the most extreme case I've ever seen," he said.

"You're saying that I nearly caused a fist fight at Chilton's winter formal?" she asked, completely bewildered by the idea. "That's…," she began to say crazy, but he cut her off.

"Completely accurate," he said definitively. "I'm sorry if I'm the first person to ever tell you this, but you're capable of inspiring stupidity in the opposite sex."

She wasn't sure what to do with that knowledge. "Oh."

He flitted his eyes to her before returning them to road. "Did I offend you?"

She shook her head delicately, barely responsive. He'd stunned her, for sure. "No."

"It's just not the truth you were hoping for?" he guessed.

"It just doesn't make sense to me. I mean, the entire female population of our school was hoping you'd ask them to that dance."

"Not the entire female population," he corrected.

"I already had a date," she said in defense of having turned him down when he saw her on line for tickets. She left out the part about how she hadn't believed his offer was sincere at the time. She'd begun to review a lot of their prior interactions in a new light—something else she wasn't going to tell him.

"That might be, but you seem to think that the rest of the girls at Chilton are some kind of equal replacement for your company."

"And they're not?" she asked glibly.

He turned to face her again. "No. They're not."

A heavy, pointed silence fell over them then as he continued steering toward her tiny little hometown. Her face felt warm, and she was overwhelmed at the idea of glancing his direction again. "Are you going with your family to France this summer?"

He didn't answer readily. "Some of them."

"What will you be doing?"

His hesitation continued. "Working. Probably looking at schools."

She frowned. "Schools?"

He looked her way again. "I told you, things are complicated."

"Are you… not coming back next year?" She wasn't sure why the idea didn't sit well with her, but it wasn't a pleasant thought.

"Would that be the worst thing in the world?" he asked, his words tinged with sullen supposition.

"Does this have anything to do with why you were meeting my grandfather this morning?" she asked, now only more curious than she'd been that morning.

"It's all business. That seems to be all it ever is in our family," he said ominously. "Though I wasn't expecting to get to see you in your pajamas. That was a nice bonus," he added, in an appreciative manner.

"You weren't expecting me to be there? You drove me home last night; you knew I'd be at the house."

"It was early, and until your grandmother dragged me in to force feed me, we were behind closed doors."

"So, you would have come and gone, all without seeing me?" she asked, put off by the implication. They had crossed over into the outer limits of Stars Hollow by then. Her whole body was tensing up, and she wasn't sure if it was the proximity to her problems or the conversation they were engaged in that was responsible for her discomfort.

"Was I supposed to ask permission to head up to your room alone?" he asked. She could tell he wasn't opposed to the idea, even if he thought it would have gotten him refused at best and most likely tossed out after a verbal lashing at the attempt.

"No, I mean, never mind. Take a left, here," she said, giving him more direction now that they were close.

"This town looks like it fell right off a movie set," he said, taking in their surroundings. "It's surreal."

"No one's asking you to like it," she said simply, as he pulled into a spot in front of the diner.

"Says the girl who ran away from it," he said, watching her as she sat stoically in the seat next to him, not even bothering to unfasten her seat belt. "Don't you want coffee?"

She nodded, staring idly out the window at the diner. "Yeah."

He paused for a beat. "Do they offer car service? I didn't see a drive-through or girls on roller skates," he jested. She failed to laugh.

"No. I'll go in. I just," she said with a deep breath, "need a minute."

"Okay," he said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in the parked car. "Want me to go in and get it?"

She turned to him, surprised at the offer. "What?"

He held his hands palms up. "No one here knows me. I'm just some handsome young traveler, in search of some coffee to sustain me on my trip. If they're going to talk about me, it'll be in a passing fancy sort of way, about how not enough good-looking men live in town."

She rolled her eyes at his little scenario. "You have the healthiest ego I've ever encountered. Do you stare into the mirror at night, making kissy faces at yourself?"

He wasn't amused. "Do you want coffee, or not? I could always drop you off with your mother, and you can have a nice chat to put all this behind you, and go back to living your charmed little life. I'm sure Dean will even forgive you eventually. Think about it, the music will swell as you and your mother make up, just as he arrives on your front steps, with a small bouquet of flowers, telling you he was sorry for putting you on the spot like that," he illustrated, though his lovely little story was rife with derision.

"So, your life gets to be complicated and mine is just me being an ungrateful brat?" she asked, wounded by his interpretation.

"I didn't say that," he began.

"Whatever. I'll be back. Just sit here and resist the urge to wow the townsfolk with your charm and wit. That doesn't work for you as well as you might think," she advised as she emerged from the safety and confines of his car. She felt instantly far more self-conscious than she had in Tristan's presence. Whatever buffer he'd offered was gone. She straightened her shirt and squared her shoulders. Luke wouldn't refuse her service. He'd done it to her mother on a number of occasions, but never Rory. Even when Lorelai and Luke were majorly on the outs, Rory could always count on a filling meal or a quick coffee—sometimes he even served her on the house when she came despite her mother, like a reward for not taking sides. She could only hope that he wasn't taking sides now.

She checked back to the car before making her approach. Tristan was watching her with an even expression. She tried to push all the building emotions he evoked in her down. She would deal with those later. She'd put far too much off lately.

Stepping into the diner felt familiar in a way few things in her life ever would. It was calming for a brief second, until she caught the gaze of the proprietor. One look from him was all it took for her to realize that he felt bad about what he was getting ready to do—as though she'd given him no choice in the matter.

"Hey, Rory. Want some coffee?" he asked, doing his best to mask any and all emotion in his voice. He was offering her much more than just coffee.

She stepped up to the counter and slid onto a well-worn vinyl seat. "That'd be great. But could I make it two, to go?"

AN: Yes, it's sort of a cliffhanger. I don't do it to be mean—but I do it. Also, I'm okay with being a little evil. But know this—when I have such a set up in place, the writing of the next part often comes very quickly.


	5. Chapter 5

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

AN: It's the next part. Already! Not too bad of a wait, I hope. In the meantime, I even posted some original fic at fictionpress. My pen names are the same here and there, if anyone's interested. But for those of you who just want me to stop talking and get to the Trory… your wish is granted. This one is chockfull. (And I'll get back to other characters next chapter, as well)

Luke turned away from the counter to fill the simple order, leaving Rory alone to get her bearings. She had no idea how to explain herself to Luke. It wasn't that she owed him an explanation—she was sure even he'd heard about her abrupt departure by now, and he was always the last to get wind of town gossip. It just seemed something she should attempt to do, to reach out to this man that was more a fixture in her life than most other people. The last few days notwithstanding, she'd seen him on a daily basis, if for nothing other than a cup of coffee. The man, who seemed to ignore most holidays out of remonstration, had made her a coffee cake and blown up balloons for her last birthday. Before she could come up with words that didn't make her sound infantile and insolent, he turned back to her and slid two lidded cups in front of her.

"It's good to see you back," he said simply, though she didn't miss the undertone of hope. He might have been more sure of the sentiment if she'd come in giggling with Lane or trailing after her endlessly chatty mother.

"Oh, well," she said, her eyes darting down to the steam that was escaping out of the narrow slits on top of each lid. "Actually, I'm heading back to Hartford after this."

Luke let out a gruff noise. "You talk to your mom?"

Rory shook her head. "Not since Friday. She came to Grandma's for dinner."

Luke nodded at her statement, though his eyes were clearly somewhere else, reliving a fresh memory. "I know."

She wondered if it had been there, to Luke's Diner, where her mother had fled to once she left the disastrous attempt at a cordial dinner. It wouldn't have been the first time. Even more likely that Lorelai had come to Luke's telling herself that it was because she'd missed dinner and needed food. Luke's was her mother's ultimate comfort food, though Rory strongly suspected the comfort came more from the proprietor than the actual food.

"Right. Well, it didn't go so well."

"She misses you. She wants you home."

Of that matter, he sounded sure. His words came out nearly as an order of sorts. She should stop this foolishness and work it out. She should go back to where she belonged, pure and simple. It was what everyone was thinking, but to hear it in Luke's voice affected her.

All she could do was nod as a lump formed in her throat. She gripped a coffee in each hand. "Thanks, Luke. I really appreciate it."

Her eyes were all glassy with the threat of tears as she left with her complimentary coffees. The wind broke over her face, whipping her hair around her cheek and the bridge of her nose. It almost obscured the sight of a familiar face that was staring at her from a half a block away.

He must have been going to play basketball at the school, based on his clothes alone, which meant he either switched a shift at the market or permanently altered his schedule. It seemed the kind of detail that was too inconsequential to ask him about, as there were so many other things that they were no longer discussing. Nothing she could think to say to him would be right. She stood still as he'd ceased moving at the sight of her as well. She forgot about her possible audiences and went into survival mode as he started toward her.

"So, you're okay?" he asked¸ though his tone left her wondering if he was glad about the confirmation. Maybe for a while he was comforted by the idea she might have been regretting her choices, though she doubted it. It was clear that he wasn't in the business of telling her how he felt any longer.

She nodded. "I'm fine. I guess it's all over town," she said, averting her eyes from him to inspect the side of the building.

"Sookie came to my house, frantically searching for you the night you disappeared. I saw Lorelai the next day at the market and she told me you'd just gone to your grandparents."

Her eyes widened, returning back to his familiar face. He looked tired, as if hating her was a taxing endeavor. "They went to you?"

His gaze narrowed. "Because it's the last place you'd have gone?"

She felt the blow of his words. "No, I mean, they shouldn't have bothered you."

"Whatever. So, are you going to make up with your mom?" he asked, nodding to the contents of her hands.

She eyed the two coffees. She resisted the urge to turn to see Tristan in his car, no doubt having some kind of unpleasant visceral response to the little chat she was having. She was lucky he hadn't peeled away in his car, leaving her to either stay in Stars Hollow or call a cab to get herself back to Hartford. He'd made his feelings about Dean crystal clear.

"Not exactly."

"Then who," he began, but he cut off as his eyes focused on something behind her.

She closed her eyes, not needing to ask what had stolen his attention. She whipped around to Tristan. "Didn't I tell you to wait in the car?"

His blue eyes burned into hers. "I get bored easily, what can I say?"

"Him? Seriously, you're with him now? Is that why you took off to stay in Hartford?" Dean asked more harshly than necessary as he leapt to inaccurate conclusions.

"Stop," she said crossly.

"You should listen to her. You look like you have somewhere to be, unless that's just how you usually dress. Don't let us keep you," Tristan offered, as impolitely as possible.

"I don't have to listen to her or you. And this is none of your business," Dean said to Tristan, stepping toward him aggressively.

"Not my business? Then why is she here with me, instead of you?" Tristan asked, matching his stance.

"Dean, go. Just go. Forget you saw me. We're just here for coffee, and we're leaving. Tristan? Let's go."

Dean and Tristan remained toe-to-toe, neither of them backing down or saying a word. Rory had never been as glad for a multitude of silent spectators keeping an eye on other people's business as she was when Luke emerged from his door, stepping up behind the trio.

"Everything okay out here?"

Rory held out a coffee to Tristan. She watched him for a sign of relenting. "Please."

He ducked his chin to the shoulder she was standing beyond. "Fine."

Tristan took a step to the side, accepting the coffee Rory had gotten for him, without a look back at Dean. Dean, however, remained in place. Luke crossed his arms. "You have somewhere to be?"

Dean let out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, I guess so," he said, but gave Rory one last look of disappointment before he turned to jog across the street toward the school.

"Thanks, Luke," Rory said again, relief washing over her. If she hadn't needed the coffee before, she did after that confrontation.

Luke simply nodded and went back into the diner to work as if nothing had happened. Rory walked back to the car slowly, opening her door after Tristan had gotten back in.

She took a long draw on the beverage after she sat down. He'd cracked the windows, but he made no move to start the car. The keys were lying in the console between them. The moment the liquid hit her taste buds she tilted the drink to her lips again, happy to have a whole cup to enjoy after such a long hiatus.

"That must be some good coffee," Tristan said, as he watched her in lieu of drinking his own.

"It is. Why aren't you drinking?" she asked in between sips.

"It's hot."

She frowned. "It's coffee. It's known for its thermodynamic properties. You're passing chemistry, aren't you?"

"Like part of you isn't planning on drinking most of my coffee the second you finish yours? Which from the looks of it will be in less than a minute," he said, raising a knowing eyebrow at her.

She shook her head at his theory. "If you're so worried, start drinking."

"What, once my germs are in it, it's mine?" he joked.

She scoffed. "That's crazy. First of all, you hardly appear to have the plague, and secondly, it's not as if we haven't, I mean," she said, her words growing less and less confident as she approached the part of the sentence she'd left unspoken. As if they hadn't kissed. Which they had. In all the time they'd spent together recently, it was the one thing they hadn't discussed since just after it'd happened. At the time they'd both agreed that it was some kind of fluke. She was wary of the validity of that argument, more and more all the time.

"We haven't what?" he asked, prodding her. His voice was thick, as was the air in the car, despite the light breeze that blew through the cracked windows.

"Kissed," she said quickly. "We kissed. Remember?"

She could tell by just looking at him that he remembered. He was still sitting next to her, but the way his eyes were roaming over her, it felt as if they were touching. She was suddenly very aware of her own breath, and the way it was a little forced and quite shallow in her chest. She gripped her coffee cup tighter, happy to have something to hold.

"I remember."

The timbre of his voice sent little shocks down her spine. She shivered, despite the warm coffee flooding her system. She couldn't help but wonder if he was inclined to do it again.

"It's probably cooler now," she said softly.

He wet his lips slightly and raised the glass up. He took a long drink, cutting his eyes to her mid-drink. She watched him thoughtfully, waiting for his reaction.

"Well?"

He smiled at her impatience. "It's good."

Her mouth opened, obviously taking the slight praise as an insult. "Just good? And I thought I had high standards for coffee," she scoffed.

He took another drink. "I prefer cappuccino," he explained. "Dry cappuccino and a fresh chocolate croissant. That's my favorite."

Her eyes dropped to her nearly finished coffee, which she rested against her leg. "You'll have plenty of that in France."

"You say that as if it's going to be some chichi vacation," he said quietly.

She lifted her chin. "Isn't it? And don't tell me it's complicated. Explain it to me."

He let out a sigh. "My family is on the verge of imploding. My dad is supposed to take over the family business when my grandfather retires or isn't in the position to remain at the helm. My grandfather has run the business the way it's always been run, for hundreds of years. My dad is more concerned with profit than quality. Actually, Dad's always been more concerned with money than anything else, including his kids."

She listened to him with concern as he spoke. "And your grandfather wants to retire?"

He shrugged. "He's had some health problems. My grandmother wants him to at least slow down, and get to enjoy the years he has left. He says he can't slow down if he knows that my father will just run the business into the ground. He considered looking outside the family to circumvent my father's inheritance, but he wants to keep it in our family. Normally, it would have been passed from oldest son to oldest son, but even skipping my father, that leaves it to my brother, who is pretty much a carbon copy of our dad."

"I hadn't realized you had a brother," she said, echoing her earlier disbelief.

He nodded, indicating that there's no reason she would have. "We're not close. Anyhow, Grandfather approached me about getting more involved, sooner than later. He wants to mentor me, to help me steer my way through college, and instead of learning the business after that, to be ready to take over by the time I'm done. My aunt is on board to bridge the gap, if need be."

"Does she live in France?"

He nodded. "In Provence. She always preferred her summers there, and went to university in France, and has been running the wineries there since."

"And now you'll do the same?" Rory asked, in disbelief. Not that she didn't know exactly what career path she wished to follow, but it was still greatly an unknown. She had to earn her way to that goal, following a path that she could barely anticipate once college was finished. She couldn't imagine any sixteen-year-old passionate enough about the wine business to sign on for life.

"If I want to," he said with a heavy weight on him.

"You're not sure?" she asked.

He ran his thumb over the top of the lid. "I owe my grandfather a lot. I owe it to him to try and make it what I want."

"Oh," she said, unable to come up with any words that might make his decision easier.

"He doesn't want to pressure me, but things have to move quickly. Once he and my aunt put together a game plan, they had to get everything ready before my parents came back from vacation. They get back tonight, which is why I was with your grandfather this morning. Grandfather has lawyers on speed dial, and now he has everything, down to my plane ticket, secured to route everything around my father and brother, essentially cutting them out. They can still be involved in operations, ensuring a certain lifestyle, but they won't be involved in the direction of the company. Basically they have to accept less or nothing at all."

Rory's eyes widened. "I'd want to go to France for the summer after all that, myself."

He paused as he registered her words. "I have my stuff at my grandfather's. I'm staying with them while my parents are gone anyhow. I'm there a lot, actually. Things at home aren't always good."

He said the last part with a pain that was palpable. Her hand found his. He stared down at their junction before meeting her eyes.

"You tasted like coffee," he said, his words as soft as his touch as he turned his hand over under hers.

She blinked, cognizant of the hazy warmth that enveloped her body. It was intoxicating, the way he managed to overtake her senses with such simple measures. "What?"

"When we kissed. You tasted like coffee and salt."

No one had ever discussed how she tasted before, not in that manner. His words should have made her self-conscious, but she was transfixed by the idea of him tasting her, enjoying her the way she did coffee or cake—or perhaps taking the opportunity to take notice of just what he tasted like. She'd pulled away too hastily to take notice of such things during their first brief encounter. The salt he spoke of was probably from her tears.

"Is that not… normal?" she asked, not bothering to pull her attention from his lips.

He gave her a small smile. "I was just expecting you to taste sweeter somehow."

"You, oh," she gasped, her eyes wide at the implication.

"Do you want some more?" he asked, without retracting his hand.

Her mouth went dry at his question. "What?"

He held up his coffee cup. "Coffee. Isn't yours gone by now?"

"Oh. Yeah. But, I," she stammered, unable to push away the image of him leaning in and kissing her, right there in the front seat of his car. She pulled her hand away from his slowly as she realized it wasn't going to happen.

"Should we get out of here?" he asked, doing a scan out his windows, suddenly looking anywhere but at her.

She nodded, her hands focused again on her empty cup. "Probably. I'm sure by now people already have started spreading the word about our little visit. Just coming here like this will upset Mom," she said honestly.

He leaned his head back against his head rest. "Do you want to go see her?"

She shook her head vehemently. "No. I just… don't know what to say yet. I know I should apologize, but," she said with a heavy sigh.

"You're not sorry."

She cringed a little. "If I'm not, does that make me a horrible person?"

"You are not a horrible person," he said definitively. "Is that what Dean said?"

"No," she assured him. "What, you weren't eavesdropping?"

"It's harder to read lips from the angle I was at. That's why I got out of the car," he admitted.

"Dean's not the mean-spirited type. He's just hurting, that's all."

"That doesn't give him a license to pull you into his misery, even if you're the source of it," he said, heatedly.

"I know," she said, her eyes wide and calm. "It's part of why I went to my grandparents, remember? But with Mom," she paused for a second. "We're really close. We're not just mother and daughter, we're best friends. So, it's not just that we had a fight. It's that I didn't tell her why Dean and I broke up. And she didn't tell me that she was dating someone. And you're supposed to tell your best friend stuff, even if it's hard to say or it might be hard for them to hear. I knew it would be a big adjustment when I switched schools, but I didn't expect things between me and her to change."

"She's got to be glad you're with her parents, though, right? I mean, there are worse places to run away to," he reasoned.

She let out a laugh. It sounded like the most reasonable thing in the world. "Actually, their house is more of a prison to her. It's like I'm rubbing everything she taught me to believe in her face, by running there. I can't fix this easily. I'm not sure where to start."

He started the car. "So, back to Hartford?"

She nodded, looking out at the diner once more. "Yeah. Back to Hartford."

-X-

They hadn't talked much on the trip back to her grandparents' house. He needed no directions to head back to his hometown. It wasn't until he got to the drive that she stopped him.

"Wait, don't pull in the driveway," she urged.

He frowned at her, but followed her instructions, pulling forward and parking on the street. "Okay. Why not?"

She put her hand up. "Because if they hear your car, they'll look, and see that not only am I home, but that you brought me. And if they see that, they'll invite you in, and we'll have to make small talk with them until you can make your escape."

His appraisal of her spiel was perplexed amusement, at best. "You jump to a lot of conclusions," he offered.

She rolled her eyes. "I know them. And you know them. Trust me," she said.

"It has nothing to do with trust. You're kind of nuts," he teased her.

"Are you in a hurry to get back?" she asked, putting him on the spot.

"Apparently," he said, unsure of her motivation.

She raked her bottom lip between her teeth before she spoke again. "I just thought, if you wanted to, we could park here and walk around to the pool house. Grandma never goes out there. And you could put off thinking about France or whatever, if you wanted, for a little while longer."

His eyes flashed as he took in her offer. "Rory, I," he began, but either thought better of what he intended to say or simply hadn't been wholly prepared in the first place.

"You've been really nice to me. I just thought I might be able to repay the favor."

"I don't expect you to," he began again, but she cut him off.

"I know. I just wish I could. That's all."

He nodded. "I should get back."

"Oh. Sure," she nodded, trying not to appear wholly disappointed.

"Maybe another time?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yeah. Anytime. I mean, as long as I'm here. I'm not sure what Grandma would do if she found out that you were spending all your free time in her pool house."

He smiled. "I guess neither of us will be in Hartford for much longer," he added.

"I guess not," she agreed quietly. "Why didn't you kiss me?"

Her question took him off-guard. Had he been standing, she was sure he'd have stumbled forward. As it was, he jerked a little, leaning in toward her as if to better hear her in the future. She couldn't blame him. To be honest, it took her a little by surprise as well. "When?"

She gathered the remainder of her courage. "Earlier. Outside of Luke's. It seemed like," she began, hoping he'd pick up the slack. But the way his blue eyes were studying her, she realized that would have been too easy. "It seemed like you maybe wanted to."

"It seemed that way, huh?" he asked, though not in a rude or teasing manner. If something about the situation were humorous, it wasn't without a shroud of significance.

"Maybe I was way off," she backpedaled.

"Did you want me to kiss you?" he asked, turning the tables on her line of inquiry.

She flushed outright, giving away her answer before she ever spoke. "Is this a joke to you?"

He was calm as he shook his head. "Not at all. I just wondered; if you wanted me to kiss you, why didn't you just kiss me?"

A million answers flew through her mind, none of which were satisfactory or even worthy of expressing. Not a single one valid, even though they were the very answers that had been responsible for stopping her. They ranged from because he was a hundred times more experienced than she at the art of kissing, and as someone who believed that practice made perfect, the chances of her initiating a kiss worth the risk of ruining the friendship they'd established were slimmer than of his. That she was a girl, and girls didn't make the first move. That she had never made the first move. That he never seemed to do anything but make the first move. That he'd been the one to extend himself, over and over for months, in the face of near-constant rejection.

It was by the last thought that she realized—he'd already made the first move; he'd been the brave one to lean in to initiate their first kiss. On a piano bench, at a party. He'd kissed her, and she'd run away. Even if he'd been sincere in telling her that he believed that her reaction had nothing to do with him, perhaps he wasn't keen on being the one to put himself out there again. She could apologize again, but what would that accomplish, she wondered. She'd already told him she was sorry. She'd been sincere. If she wanted a different outcome, she'd have to be the one to take the measures to bring it about. That was true with Tristan, and it was true with Dean, and her mother, and Lane.

"Thank you for taking me today," she said instead of answering his question, even though it was a proper response in her own mind. "It helped."

"The coffee?" he asked knowingly.

"Not just the coffee. The company, too," she said with all sincerity.

"Good," he said, a bit bewildered at the change of topic. "I'm glad."

"If things get weird, with your parents getting home, and everything," she led. "I study in the pool house. Grandma says it's too cold to swim yet anyway, so no one else is ever out there."

His expression was unreadable. She wasn't sure if he was already dreading the confrontations that would follow or if he simply never planned on taking her up on her offer. "I'll keep that in mind. See you tomorrow?"

She nodded and reached for the door handle. She shut the door and turned to the gates, but stopped as she heard the sound of his window opening. "Rory, hang on."

She turned to see him angled back between the two front seats, digging around in the back of his car. He grabbed something and tossed it through the window at her. "In case you get cold."

She didn't have to look at it to know what she was holding in her hands. It was the same soft material she'd brought as a reason to see him that afternoon. She remembered his utterance of it being just a shirt. She held it against her chest. "Thanks."

He drove off then, leaving her with something to remember him by. Suddenly, she couldn't think of one good reason as to why she hadn't kissed him. She walked up the drive slowly, noticing how his shirt still smelled of him.


	6. Chapter 6

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

Rory willingly selected the juice from the breakfast table. She'd arrived downstairs in full Chilton regalia, her hair pulled back from her face in a braid. There was more than enough time for her to enjoy breakfast with her grandparents. Emily was outwardly pleased at the difference the day had made. Not only had Rory been in better spirits the night before for dinner, but first thing that morning Rory had gotten herself up early, and come down without missing any part of proper attire. Her appetite had returned, and she engaged in conversation as opposed to being distracted or just plain yawning into her beverage.

"So, Rory," Emily began as she delicately spread a piece of bread with jam, "I was wondering what your plans for the summer involve."

Rory finished chewing a mouthful of cherry Danish. "Well, I'm registered for summer school."

Richard lowered his paper, alarmed as he regarded his granddaughter. "Summer school?"

Rory nodded. "It's hard to squeeze in all the classes I want to take during the year—plus the class sizes are smaller in the summer, so we get through far more material. At least, that's what I'm hoping," she said, her inner geek shining through.

Richard smiled proudly. "An admirable way to spend one's summer months, furthering your education."

"Yes, but summer classes are shorter, are they not?" Emily posed.

Rory frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you only take one or two classes a day at most, leaving you with some free time."

Rory put her pastry down on her plate. "I suppose that's true."

Her grandmother's expression brightened to the point that set off little warning signals in Rory's brain. It was the kind of trigger that sent her mother into panic mode, and that Rory normally believed caused her mother to overreact. It was far more troublesome without her mother there to act as a buffer, however. "I was thinking that you might like to accompany me to some of my upcoming events."

"Oh, Emily, a sixteen-year-old girl doesn't want to attend stuffy symphony fundraisers or hospital board meetings," Richard said dismissively.

"I wasn't talking about planning committee meetings," Emily said. "There's a lovely tea party in the botanical gardens in June, and the symphony in the park Saturdays in July. You like tea and music, don't you?"

Rory sat up straighter. "Those sound nice, Grandma, but I might not be here in June and July."

"Where will you be?" Emily demanded.

"Home. I have to go back sometime," Rory pointed out, though less emphatically than she intended as she lowered her gaze to her pastry.

"You made it sound like you'd be in some far-off land. It's not too far to come back for an event now and then, is it? I think you'd enjoy yourself."

Rory nodded and offered her grandmother a smile. "I'll think about it."

"Good," Emily said, returning to her own food.

"So, you two will be around all summer? You won't be traveling?" Rory asked.

Emily sighed longingly. "We might go to the Cape for a couple of weekends. Richard's been so busy, he hasn't had time to commit to any more than that, I'm afraid. Though you're welcome to join us, if you've got a yen for travel."

"She's got more than a yen for travel, this one," Richard said proudly. "And anytime you want to travel anywhere we're headed, you're more than welcome."

"Thank you. I just thought you two normally went to Europe every couple of years."

"We're going to Paris, but that's not until fall. You'd have to take time off of school. Would your mother approve of that?" Emily asked.

Rory had a feeling that a request to take time off of school to travel with her grandparents across the ocean, in order to see a boy nonetheless, would probably be met with enough trepidation to earn her a big, fat no. "I'm not sure."

"It's not as if it wouldn't be educational. You could get practical use out of your French classes. You have taken French, haven't you?" Richard asked.

"Just a semester. But I might take more," Rory added, a recent addition to her list.

"And Paris is so full of history. You can only learn so much from books. Some things need to be experienced," Emily said smartly.

"I'd love to go to Paris," Rory said honestly. "Do you guys take day trips to other areas as well? Like Nice or Provence?"

"Day trip? You spend half the day getting there and back, even on the train," Emily corrected. "No, you'd need a few days to devote to seeing Provence. It's worth the extra time."

Rory didn't add that if she managed to find herself in Provence, by some stretch of the imagination, she'd probably want to spend more than a few days. Especially if Tristan didn't come back the next fall. By then, she figured, he'd have forgotten all about her. "I hope I get to see it all someday."

"You will, we'll make certain of it. But for now, shouldn't you be getting to school? Summer isn't here yet," Emily said, glad of the lively conversation to start her day.

"Yeah, I do. I'll see you two later."

"All right," Emily said.

"Have a good day at school, Rory," Richard offered as she went to grab her backpack and walk the short distance to school. She was feeling so positive about things, she didn't even bother to check to see if her bus paused at her old stop.

-X-

The stacks in the school library stretched from the floor to the ceiling, but still managed to go on for countless rows. It was maze-like to the untrained eye, at least if one weren't intimately acquainted with the arrangement of the space. Rory had spent many hours, doing research, searching for titles, and generally playing catch up over the last nine months, slowly learning the layout of its land. There were maps and a number of library aids available to help one find a certain section or book, but she weaved her way from the computer to the correct aisle, gathering a small stack of books for her chosen topic. With only two weeks left until finals, Mr. Medina had led the class to the library to give them extra time to prep for the paper he'd assigned as part of their final grade. As it had been on the syllabus all semester, Rory had a working plan prepared, but Chilton's library was nothing if not a great resource of information. As a natural writer, she took papers especially seriously. Exams tested one's ability to regurgitate information, in her experience. Papers, however, allowed creative outlets in which intellect and opinion could merge. She was one of the few eager for the assignment.

"Rory, there you are. Ah, I see you've chosen a worthy heroine," Mr. Medina said as he stood at the end of the stack she was immersed in.

"I've been reading a lot of Victorian literature lately. I've always admired her work," she said without looking down at the biographies of Edith Wharton in her arms.

"She wasn't much for happy endings," he said with romantic dismay.

"That's why I like her writing. She didn't force her story into some neat little box. She made her characters real, with flaws and rough edges that happy endings would have smoothed off."

Mr. Medina appeared impressed. "Save something for your paper," he advised.

She shifted her weight. The books were growing heavy in her arms. She had a tendency to pull titles first and worry about transport later. "Did you need something?"

He let out a sigh. "I'm just going to say this, as someone who cares about you. Your mother is beside herself. She was blindsided by this whole thing, and maybe you were justified in taking a few days apart, but she deserves to know why."

All the progress she'd made in feeling optimistic about sorting out her negative emotions and mending fences with those who'd gotten hurt in the wake of her expressing them faded away. "I take it the two of you are still dating?"

"We just had coffee. And she called me when she couldn't find you, and things," he trailed off, no doubt uncomfortable about discussing his personal life with a student—especially a student in whose home he'd spent the night. She hated that her mother had put the both of them in this situation. She wanted to learn about Edith Wharton and Henry James from this man, not discuss how seriously he was dating her mother. And besides, she'd recently found out just how intense a coffee date could be. At a certain point, ignorance was bliss. It had to be more comfortable than standing in the cramped stacks with an armful of books cutting off circulation in her arm while discussing her personal problems with her teacher.

"You know what, I don't need to know. It's her business, not mine. I appreciate what you're saying," she said, in a stilted manner. "But I have a lot of reading to do."

"Of course," Mr. Medina said, standing and watching as she hurried past him and made her way back through the collection to deposit her resources at the table where she'd set up camp. A whole study section of the library had been reserved for their class, and she sat nearest the books, without the additional clutter of other people's belongings at her table. She'd just sat down when she noticed Tristan enter the library. Class had started five minutes prior; just enough time for him to get to the classroom tardy and see the note posted on the door about the library hour. He stopped at the other end of her table and pulled out a chair.

"You mind?"

She shook her head wordlessly. She took pause, watching him let his bag drop to the floor and sit down on the chair. She wondered what had happened since he'd dropped her off yesterday. Had his parents come home? Why had he been late? If he wished to share any information with her, he wasn't offering it readily.

"Whom did you choose?" she asked finally, deciding to err on the side of safety and discuss school matters.

He lifted his head up to her. "Excuse me?"

She tapped her stack of books. "For the assignment."

"Oh. I haven't decided yet," he said absently.

She bit back the urge to lecture him on wasting time and the percentage of his final grade that he was risking by procrastinating. She didn't realize she was staring at him as she held her tongue.

"What's the matter?" he asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

"Nothing. Why?"

"Normally you'd be criticizing my wayward pursuits at this point," he said, suspicious of her behavior.

"I do not criticize you," she argued.

He laughed and pointed at her with his thumb and forefinger extended. "Thanks, I needed a good laugh."

"Glad I could be of service," she muttered as she took the top book off her stack and opened it in the most exasperated manner she could manage.

"Ah, Mr. Dugrey," Mr. Medina said, coming up to their table. "You've decided to grace us with your presence after all," he led.

Tristan produced a note from his backpack. "My meeting with Mr. Thomas ran long."

Mr. Medina read over the note with concern. "Everything all right?"

Tristan nodded dutifully. "Yes, sir."

"Very well. You're free to begin or further your research during class hours this week. My year-end gift to my students," he said graciously.

"Yes, sir," Tristan answered, and the teacher went on his way to make the rounds to other tables. The moment he was out of earshot, Tristan turned his attention back to Rory. "That was weird."

Rory let out a huffy breath. "I'm trying to read."

"Loudly. I've never seen anyone read that pointedly before, though you weren't really reading, were you? How many times did you read the same three words, over and over, trying to get them to stick?"

Her blue eyes lifted from the pages of the book she'd been trying to read. If looks could kill, well, hers would at the very least fit him with a muzzle. "Shouldn't you be picking a topic, or do you not care if you pass this class?"

"I didn't actually think it was true, until now."

Her molars ground together. "Didn't think what was true?"

He tilted his head Medina's direction. "The Chilton mom dating a teacher."

Rory stood up suddenly. "I need more books," she managed before disappearing back into the rows and rows of books. Books were comforting. Books had always been her favorite place to hide. Until now, it had always been more of a figurative deal, but she wasn't going to turn down a physical hiding spot in times of desperation.

It seemed Tristan had been in the library on more than one occasion in the past, contrary to popular belief. He found her in a matter of seconds, in the astronomy section with its patches of dust and long titles. She was leaning against the far wall, her eyes closed. "Go away, Tristan."

His footsteps failed to retreat. He had moved in closer; she knew that before she opened her eyes. "Why?"

"Because it's impossible to be alone if someone else is with you," she shot back.

"You really want me to go?"

She hesitated. "Did you come back here to give me a hard time about how my mom's the one dating Mr. Medina?" she asked warily.

The notion offended him. "No."

She exhaled, relaxing into the wall. "He keeps trying to talk to me, like he knows something about my life," she began, skipping the invitation to stay.

"He's dating your mother. And if you two are as close as you say, then he probably feels like he's obligated to take some kind of interest in you," Tristan rationalized.

"I don't get involved in her dating life. I mean, she's dated all my life, but I've never had to learn their names or eat meals with them or sit through their classes while they talk about great writers, all the while knowing that they'll be taking my mother out for karaoke later," she explained.

Tristan was momentarily transfixed. "I can't see Medina doing karaoke," he stated.

Rory tossed him an exasperated glare. "You know what I mean. You should have seen how gleeful Paris was when she caught them kissing before they broke up the first time."

He cleared his throat. "I remember."

"And you really didn't know it was my mom? I'm sure Paris spared no detail when she told you all about it."

"She didn't, but I didn't believe her," he said easily.

"Why not?" Rory demanded.

"Because… it's Paris. She isn't the most reliable source about anything concerning you, other than your GPA. She actually has everyone in our grade's GPA memorized. It's sort of creepy."

Rory nudged the carpet with the toe of her black-and-white shoe. "I'm sorry I suggested you take her on a date. You definitely deserve better."

He smiled, clearly amused at her apology. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," she confirmed, noting the fact that he'd taken another step closer to her. He was so close that her body was starting to react to his; her heart pumping faster and her mind growing far less articulate.

"We should probably get back out there. Some of us still need to pick a topic, remember?" he said, though his voice gave evidence that he wasn't keen on leaving their quiet retreat yet.

"You could pick Henry James," she offered.

He considered the writer. "Why him?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "I'm doing Edith Wharton. Some of the books I have on her talk a great deal about him as well; we could share resources. Maybe study together," she offered.

"I thought you were going to say because he was an American expatriate," he mused.

"Oh," she said heavily. "Right."

"Are you going to be in Hartford all week?" he asked, pulling her back to the present moment and out of her anticipatory summer doldrums.

"Yes. I mean, most likely," she corrected.

"And you'll be studying in the pool house?"

She nodded. "Yeah. So, you'll come by?"

"To share references," he added in agreement. "And for the pleasure of giving me somewhere else to be, I might just bring you some contraband."

"Then it's decided," she said with an eager smile. The reality of what she'd just invited into her life hadn't hit her, and probably wouldn't until they were studying alone in close quarters. They'd spent time alone before, without the earth suffering some kind of cosmic danger or her chastity being put into peril. After all, the most forward thing she'd ever done to him was touch his hand. The kiss they'd shared was fleeting and elusive. It was better that way, she reasoned logically. It simply wasn't a good idea to further their relationship past that of friendship—especially given that he was leaving the country soon.

Tristan left her hiding spot first, off in search of study materials of his own. Rory came out after a couple of deep breaths, needing a moment to relax after being in close proximity to her new study partner. A little hit of serenity couldn't hurt if she came face-to-face with her mother's boyfriend, either. She didn't get all the way back to her table when a certain fast-moving blonde stepped in front of her path.

Rory's hand flew to her chest as her system recovered from the shock of nearly running into Paris Geller. "Geez, wear a bell or something," Rory snapped.

"You know, I never thought you were as smart as everyone else seems to," Paris led.

"Thanks for that little pep talk, Paris," Rory said drolly, with her annoyance apparent in her stance as well as all over her face. She'd thought her mood swings were fewer and further between after the last couple of days, but she was beginning to think it was only the effect of the weekend and not having to deal with so many varying, not to mention strong, personality types. Paris could probably make a monk snap, let alone a teenage girl with personal issues.

"But even I thought you were smarter than to be the kind of girl that just offers herself up to Tristan Dugrey like that."

Rory fought the surge of emotion at Paris' words. Had she been eavesdropping in the stacks? Knowing Paris she probably had high-tech climbing equipment and had been watching them from above. "What are you talking about?"

"You're not invisible; you do realize that, don't you? Half the school was at that party this weekend, and most of them saw you going toward the panic room with him."

"Only half?" Rory said in disbelief. She realized that couldn't be right—besides, the rest of Paris' intel was wrong as well.

"He'll be done with you before school's out, you do know that, right?" Paris said, leaning in with a sneer. "I guess that's good, though isn't it? I mean that will give you the summer to withdraw from school quietly and go back to your Podunk little town where you'll make valedictorian without any competition."

"You need other hobbies, Paris. Because you're no good at this one," Rory offered, trying to step around Paris. Paris sidestepped to block her. "If I wanted to dance, I would have asked."

"You aren't even going to deny it?" Paris asked, outraged.

Rory stared at her. "Why bother? You've already decided what you want to believe."

Paris didn't retort quickly enough after that, and Rory navigated her way around her. Tristan was walking back to the table by then, with several books in tow.

"Hey, do you have the copy of the book of letters they wrote to each other? The librarian says they have a copy, but it wasn't back there, and you seem the most likely culprit," Tristan explained before he looked up to see Paris storming toward them. "Hey, Paris."

"Tristan," she said through clenched teeth as she passed by and off to her table where her minions were busier discussing last weekend's events than their papers.

He raised an eyebrow at Rory. "She's happy."

Rory rolled her eyes. "She's delusional."

He considered the situation. "Is this a girl thing?"

"I'm pretty sure her psychosis is independent from her gender," Rory offered, still steaming from the exchange.

He paused for a beat. "So, you don't have the book?"

She reached into the middle of her stack and extracted it. "This?"

"It's a good thing you're going to be my study partner, if you're going to steal all the books," he mused, teasing her a little. "That was a joke," he explained as he got no response.

"Right. Good one," she said, the nagging bite of Paris' words settling in. It was the worst part of having a nemesis like Paris, who was so good at emotional manipulation. Not only did her words sting in the moment, but they settled into the recesses of her brain, causing her to obsess over them later as well. She glanced around the library, looking for any lingering glances toward their table. Did people really think she locked herself in a panic room to do God-knows-what with him at that party? And if so, did they think he broke her resolve over time, until she finally gave into the curiosity of what it would be like? After all, it was a popular topic of conversation in the girls' rooms at Chilton, just what it was like to be alone with Tristan Dugrey. He was the ultimate urban legend in that community. It was impossible not to overhear, even when one did their best to avoid it, as Rory had. Still, even she had to admit, she'd been curious. She snuck a glance at him then, with his head bent over a book, a pencil shoved behind his ear, and a slight frown on his face as he concentrated.

She did her best to hide the fact she'd been staring at him so blatantly when he looked up again, this time wholly bewildered at the state of her concentration. "What is with you? What exactly did Paris say to you?" he whispered just loudly enough for her to catch, but for no one else to overhear.

She shook her head, her eyes glued to the open book in front of her. "Nothing. It's nothing. Paris is completely irrational. I'm fine."

"If you're sure," he said, not believing a word of her assertion.

"I am," she said, tapping her pencil's eraser off the wooden table's surface. She took one more survey of the room. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Let me guess, boxers or briefs?" he asked mockingly.

"Never mind," she huffed, changing her mind instantaneously.

"Rory," he said, beseeching her to find some level of humor.

"No, forget it. I'm just letting Paris get to me," she pushed off the niggling doubt and refocused on the same line she'd been trying to read for the last ten minutes. At that rate, class would be over and she'd have accomplished nothing. To her that only meant that Paris had won. It's probably all Paris wanted anyhow, to distract her and rob her of precious study time. It was a perfect plot with finals approaching. "I was just wondering," she began, careful to moderate her voice. "Has anyone asked you anything about the past weekend?"

"Like what?" he asked, needing more to go on.

"Like, any of your friends, at the party," she began.

"What about them?" he asked, still not grasping what she wished to know.

"Surely some of them saw us going toward, you know," she said, signaling with her eyes meaningfully.

"You mean when you tried to lure me into the panic room?" he asked devilishly, though keeping his voice just as quiet as hers.

"That is not what happened!" she whispered harshly. "Is that what you've told people?"

His eyes darted around the room. "That's what's bothering you? I haven't told anyone anything about the party or anything else that happened this weekend," he said pointedly.

"Then why is everyone staring at us?" she demanded.

"Probably because of this," he said, gesturing between them.

"Huh?" she asked in a state of total confusion.

"It's not a secret that you hate my guts. It's some sort of mystery to the rest of the girls at Chilton, by the way, as you're the only girl that's completely disinterested in my trust fund and my future earning potential," he began. "And yet, here you are, not only sitting with me, but having these heated little arguments with me about nothing. And if Paris has heard that we were together at the party, so have they. This is only proof to them."

She sat back. "I don't hate your guts."

He smiled. "I actually do realize that."

She smiled back. "I guess at least they aren't discussing my mother's love life."

He lifted his palms slightly. "Ah, a silver lining after all. And you were worried about my shirt," he chuckled softly.

His shirt was tucked under her pillow. It was the first personal addition she'd made to her temporary room. She bit her lip. "But if anyone asks you," she led.

"I will defend your honor. It's no skin off my nose—they've all seen you rebuff me in the past."

Warmth spread over her chest. "Thanks."

He shrugged, his eyes shifting to his work. "No problem."

She was never sure why whenever she felt some kind of heat or pleasure on his account he then in turn seemed to grow sad or serious. If he only wanted to give her a taste of her own medicine, that was one thing. Avoiding her altogether would be a much easier prospect. She kept her eyes to her book after that, letting them both read in silence. Before the bell rang, she even managed to get past that first sentence. She couldn't help but wonder, though, just what having him around that evening would do to her concentration level.


	7. Chapter 7

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

AN: another Trory-centric chapter. There will be far more secondary character interaction next time. But it is fun to have them in their little bubble. Enjoy!

She hadn't expected him to show up right away. After having an early dinner due to her grandparents evening plans, Rory had retreated back to the pool house despite the privacy that having the whole house to herself allowed her. She'd told him where she'd be, and she was fairly sure he'd skip a trip to the front door to announce his arrival to more inquiring minds beforehand. She hadn't told him that her grandparents would be absent—it felt forward enough to invite him over in the first place, but inviting him over to a house free of any and all supervision was as leading a prospect as she could imagine. She'd also failed to mention to her grandparents that she was expecting a classmate over for a study session. She told herself it was because it was an inconsequential detail, but in all reality it was a measure she'd taken in order to shore up her planned evening of uninterrupted time with him.

It was just past dusk when she decided that it was no big deal if he didn't show—after all they were both capable of getting the assignment done on their own diligence and swapping of shared materials could easily be done in between classes. There was any number of good reasons he could have for not coming over, including a last-minute variety of date. Not only would any girl in their school accept a date with him on any time frame, but to most of her peers dates trumped study time any night of the week given the opportunity. The reality was she'd not invited him over for anything enticing, certainly nothing that couldn't be rescheduled or forgotten at a moment's notice. Just because it was the kind of offer that was outside her comfort zone didn't mean it even registered to him. He'd been quite open about the fact that he was interested in her, but there was an air about the way he discussed it, as if it was something he'd come to terms with in a way to put it behind him. It caused her hesitation, to say the least, the way he treated the topic.

She was settled in on the small sofa, with a throw over her legs and a half-finished book open on her lap as she kept her place on the page with a capped highlighter, when she heard the soft knock. She'd pulled her hair back hastily in a messy and bumpy bun after the sun set, having given up on looking presentable. She all but leapt up off the couch as if responding to an emergency situation. She opened the door quickly and gazed up at him.

"You came."

He cleared his throat. "Sorry. I would have been here sooner, but I got trapped listening to my family make nice at each other."

She leaned against the door. "Your parents are back?"

"Yes, and my mother insisted they go to some event at the aquarium tonight, which my grandparents are also attending, so they insisted way too politely that they all go together. I'm not sure if my mother is just being her usual self, wanting to return to the society scene after vacation, or if my father's gotten wind of what's gone on behind his back and wants to put rumors to rest until it's made public," he said with distaste. "At any rate, it was tense."

"That's where my grandparents are," she said, making room for him to come into the pool house.

He glanced toward the big house. "They aren't here?"

She shook her head, managing not to wince at her own stupidity. She hadn't meant to open with that fact. "My grandfather tried to wrangle his way out of it, but Emily's hard to dissuade."

"We should probably get started," he said as he stepped into the pool house. "Looks like you've already been busy."

"Do I strike you as the kind of person that would waste precious study time?" she asked in jest.

His raised his eyebrows for a moment. "As long you realize I'm the kind of person that requires a study break now and then."

"Fair enough," she said, making her way back to her spot on the couch. She pulled the blanket up and tossed it over the back of the couch. She wasn't chilly any longer, now that he'd arrived. "So, I've been through this one. It'll probably do you more good than me," she said, handing over a hardcover book.

He took it and examined the title. "Sounds like a light read," he mused sarcastically. "You've already read this whole thing?"

She nodded. "I read fast. Years of maxing out my library loans and trying to avoid late fees," she explained.

"Right," he said, putting it down on the table. "I guess I should be surprised you aren't done already."

She smiled at the compliment. "I'm pacing myself. I rotate out subjects when I study for finals, and reward myself for finishing other subjects that I don't like as much by working on this paper."

"That might be the worst reward system I've ever heard before," he admitted with a laugh.

She crossed her arms in defiance. "What's wrong with it?"

"Rewards should be something fun or pleasurable," he relayed, as if imparting some common wisdom that she'd somehow missed lo these many years.

"And I don't know how to have fun?" she asked, irritated at his dismissal.

"I didn't say that. But you might want to mix it up a little more," he offered.

"And how do you propose I do that?" she inquired, putting him on the spot for ideas.

He jerked his thumb toward the door. "Do something other than study another subject on your next break. Take a dip in the pool."

She let out a hassled breath. "That's crazy."

"Yeah, swimming can get wild," he teased her.

"I just don't see how my jumping in a pool will prove anything about my ability to enjoy myself. The last time I checked, all it accomplished was getting me all wet."

His blue eyes shimmered in delight. "You asked for suggestions. If you don't enjoy swimming, there are other ways I could show you a good time," he offered, his voice heady.

She shifted on her cushion. The suggestion alone was enough to raise her temperature a few more degrees to the point she thought a dip in the pool might be in order. That, or a cold shower. "Let's just get some studying done. We can choose a break activity when we actually need one, okay?"

He smiled as he opened a book. "Let the fun begin."

If she'd ever had doubts about his dedication to his studies, he was proving her wrong that evening. Rarely did he initiate conversation as they read, and when he did it was merely to check a fact or tell her something of interest to her subject. She reciprocated, at ease after a while with the rhythm they fell into as they studied alongside the other. After an hour or so, he closed his book, stood up, and stretched. She tried to finish the paragraph she was on in a rush of black and white print, but he reached for her hands and extracted her book. "Come on. Break time."

She pointed to a novel that she'd been reading on the side table. "I could probably find you something to read, or you could read over my shoulder," she offered with unconvincing effort.

He shook his head. "Reading is not a break from reading. We need fresh air in our lungs and to stretch our muscles so they don't atrophy while our brains get full," he urged far more passionately than she.

She bit her lip. "You want to take a walk?"

He nodded. "A very short one," he amended.

"How short?" she asked as he opened the door and led them away from their books.

"Just over there," he said as he pointed to the pool.

"We're not swimming! It's too cold and besides, I don't even have my swim suit."

He gave her a side-long glance. "Fine, so we don't swim. We can just put our feet in. At least it's outside and it's not reading. My eyes need a break. I need to look at something else."

"Like a pool?" she asked in mockery.

He shrugged. "It's not the Mediterranean, but it'll do in a pinch," he said. "Come on. Just for a few minutes. Then I promise if you're miserable instead of relaxed, you can read your book."

"Okay," she said, bending to roll her pant legs up to her knees as he set to uncovering the pool. He walked back over to where she sat on the edge of the modestly sized pool and rolled his own pants up.

The water was warm, heated under the cover, and she had to admit that it felt nice as she lowered her feet in. She wasn't going to admit it out loud, however. Instead, she turned to look at him, as he sat a few inches away from her along the lip of the pool. He was staring at the water, as he'd said he would do, but he didn't look like he was necessarily enjoying the view.

"Wishing you were somewhere else?" she asked quietly.

Her voice startled him. "No, actually. It's nice here. Quiet. I get why you like it here."

"It is quiet. I've been doing a lot of thinking out here. Well, in there, mostly," she said, pointing to the smaller structure they'd just come from.

"Make any decisions?" he asked with interest.

She nodded. "I'm going to call Lane tomorrow. She's been my best friend since kindergarten, and I hate when we fight. We almost never do, but usually it's my fault. Even this time—I shouldn't have freaked out on her. She was trying to be nice, even if it felt like the straw that broke the camel's back. It's not her fault she was paired up with Dean as a science partner," she said with a sigh.

"I don't think I've had a friendship that's lasted that long," he said quietly.

She shot him a questioning glance. "You have a ton of friends."

He let out an evasive snort. "Yeah, it's quantity over quality, all the way."

"I hadn't thought of it like that," she answered meekly.

He nodded and put a hand out on the concrete between them, and his other hand on his other side to match, resting his weight on his palms. "You should call her. I'm sure she misses you."

Rory gazed down at his hand. "It's funny. I miss the weirdest things about home."

"Like what?" he asked, his blue eyes intent on her.

"Like having to stop what I'm doing and find a flashlight and a can of tuna to coax the neighbor's cat out from under our porch. And then there's meeting Lane at the diner to sneak CDs into a hollowed out Bible while she scarfs down French fries before squirting breath freshener and running off to Bible study with a fake Bible full of evil rock music. Or going to town council meetings and sneaking food in so we have small-town dinner theater. Oh, and Al's Pancake World's international grab bag cuisine night."

"These are the things you miss?" he asked for clarification.

"I know it sounds bizarre, and it is. But that's what makes being in a town that's really old and kind of separated from everything else so great. We have all these weird traditions and festivals and characters that would fit into a Garrison Keillor skit—minus the musical numbers. Okay, some of them do burst out randomly into song sometimes."

"So why are you still here? You can't think your mom won't forgive you, do you?"

She shook her head slightly. "It's not that. I just don't want things to go back to how they were before, for me. I don't want all of this to be for nothing," she said thoughtfully. "What about you? Are you staying in France after the summer?"

He blew out a breath. "I don't know. I met with my guidance counselor and got all the information on transferring and semester abroad exchange credits and all that. It might be easier to go and stay away for a while."

She sluiced her feet through the water in a repetitious motion, and she stared down at the way her limbs seemed to glide effortlessly. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of relaxation. "I thought about transferring back to Stars Hollow after I started Chilton," she confided.

He stared at her, and even with her eyes closed she could sense his attention the same as if he'd reached out to touch her. "Why?"

She let out a noise of amusement. "Why? Because it was hard! Not only was I behind, but I was unprepared for how behind I was going to be, and for how long. I had no bearings, and putting aside the work load, I had Paris on my back from the second I left the administration building. Seriously, I hope she plans to run the CIA someday."

"Your mom wouldn't have cared if you changed your mind?" he asked, completely in awe of the notion.

"Oh, no, she would have wanted to kill me. We're indebted to my grandparents because of Chilton. If I really couldn't have made it, she would have supported my decision, though. My point is that I'm really glad I didn't give up because the other option would have been easier."

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure my dad will be supportive after my grandfather's changes go public," he said even after her shared experience. "Even if I had a lot to stay around for, he'd make it hard to stay."

"Oh," she said simply, a rush of disappointment filling her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, leaning down toward her.

"Yeah. We should probably get back to studying. They won't be out all night," she said, speaking of their respective relatives.

He extended his legs out as far as they could go in the water before drawing them back toward the edge again. "I'm still not sure it's healthy to enjoy studying as much as you do," he informed her.

"Only part of my drive comes out of my enjoyment," she admitted.

"What's the other part?" he asked, curious.

She smiled. "Crushing Paris."

He smiled in return. "Now that's a goal I can understand," he praised her, as he stood to join her out of the pool. She looked back at the rolled up cover.

"Shouldn't we cover the pool?"

He shook his head. "Nah. I'll do it when I leave. We might need another break."

She simply shook her head at him, but didn't protest his reasoning as they returned back to their task.

-X -

"It's not that strange," Rory protested, not for the first time. She was sitting up on her knees, a stance as passionate as if she'd stood to make her point. It was late, but she hadn't bothered to take note of the time in a while. They'd given up reading quietly in place of engaging in a conversation about the book he'd been engrossed in, the letters between their two subjects.

"She's having an affair with his friend," he said, holding up the open book, as if it would support his view.

"So what? It's not like they were married to each other. They were friends. Maybe he didn't approve of her marriage."

"But there should be some kind of respect for the institution, if not the person. She was still married—not even separated. Not to mention it could be argued that she was already having an emotional affair with a much older man, in addition to the sexual relationship with the other guy," he said, tapping the book.

"They were friends! If it had been a younger male author writing to James, would you have thought they were involved in an 'emotional affair'?" she asked with emphasis and air quotes.

He snorted. "First of all, he did write letters to much younger men, and second of all, I would classify them as highly homoerotic."

"There were plenty of rumors that he was secretly gay," she argued.

"I think it's a poorly kept secret. But she's a woman, which makes that irrelevant."

"Not everyone falls in love based on a set of met standards—height, eye color, gender. Sometimes you just fall in love with someone for who they are, not what they look like."

"Even if he was gay or not physically involved with her, that doesn't mean he wasn't indulging her in being unfaithful to her husband."

"And I'm not saying that she was right or wrong. But not everything in life is completely black or white. Just because we know something is a bad idea or won't last, does that mean we should just forget it and move on?"

He sat back, considering her question. "So you think she should be commended for living life on her terms?"

"Given the time period, especially. Isn't it better to live your life without regrets?"

"You don't know she didn't regret cheating on her husband," he argued.

"Maybe she regretted marrying her husband," she volleyed back. "He was sick in an alienating way, and she did divorce him. Besides, she's known for saying 'A New York divorce is in itself a diploma of virtue.'"

"That doesn't make any sense," he uttered with a shake of his head. "Who wants to live like that?"

"I just think it's nice that they had each other to talk to," she said, offering her last point on the topic. Her words nearly broke by the end, and her voice was far more raw than contrary.

She didn't meet his eyes then, but she knew his were on her. There were parallels that were easy to draw in the lives they were studying and their own; luckily without the adultery and the ambiguous sexual orientations. She knew he wanted her to be the brave one, to make the first move. And if she didn't make a move swiftly, he'd soon be on another continent. "I'm glad we have each other to talk to," she said earnestly, finally lifting her chin to see his reaction.

It appeared that he wanted to move from his seat across from her, but he remained where he was as he gripped the arms of the chair. The muscles in his forearms flexed. "Me too."

It wouldn't change anything, if she found the courage to kiss him. He was bound for a summer or perhaps longer spent thousands of miles away. All a sudden act of daring would do was save her from the same amount of months' worth of wishing she had gone through with it. She could feel the slow burn of indecision in her stomach. She wondered if it would fade once he left, or if she'd lie awake in bed that night, hating that she'd missed an opportunity.

"It's pretty late. We should probably get out of here," she said just as quietly as her previous admission.

"I'll walk you up to the house," he offered as they began putting their books back into their bags. Neither moved quickly, despite the late hour. The moon had long since been high in the sky, and she didn't wear a watch, so all she knew was that it was still early enough for her grandparents to be writing checks for fish in need of a new exhibit.

"Oh, the pool," she said as they emerged, the water sparkling in the direct exposure to the moon.

"I'll get it," he said, putting her at ease. "They'll never know we were here."

"Grandma already thinks it's weird that I study out here. I don't want to lose it as an option," she explained, wanting to reassure him it had nothing to do with wishing to hide his presence.

"Why do you study out here? The house can't be that loud."

"It's not. But the maid's always coming by and moving stuff when I go to use the bathroom or get a drink," she explained. "And sometimes I'm just in the way of her work."

"Hence why you lost all your clothes the other day," he said with a knowing chuckle. "You aren't used to having help."

She shook her head. "Not so much. And it's not like you can get used to Grandma's maids. She hires and fires them more often than we shop for toilet paper," she explained.

He smiled. "I love my grandfather's cook. She used to sneak me chocolate when I was little. She still does, actually."

"I'd imagine lots of women doted on you when you were little," she said wistfully.

"Just a few," he admitted as he finished covering the pool. "There."

She offered a smile of appreciation for the small labor, and they made their way to the rear patio entrance. "I'll head in here. Do you want to come through to the front door?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I'll just cut through the side. It's much more cloak and dagger that way."

She shook her head at him. "We were studying. This was hardly an illicit rendezvous."

"And whose fault is that?" he asked, his spirits high. She hoped that was an effect she had on him, and that his mood wouldn't come crashing down once he got home to whatever awaited him there.

"What could we have done that would be considered illicit in the pool? Skinny dipping?" she asked.

His face stilled, and his smile waned. "I don't know about illicit, but it sure as hell wouldn't have been boring."

"You were bored?" she asked immediately at the implication.

"No, that's not… I actually had fun studying. Which is something I've never said before," he informed her.

"Tristan?" she asked, her heart beating in her chest so loudly that she could feel it in her ears. In that moment she knew what she was about to do and terror flowed in her veins as she gave in to what seemed an eventuality.

"Yeah?" he asked, showing no signs that he knew what was about to befall him.

She leaned up on her toes so fast that she had to grab hold of him in an attempt to steady herself. He took a half a step back to accommodate for the way she'd literally thrown her body into his. His hands were strong at her waist as she pressed her lips against his. There wasn't a thought in her mind as a strange kind of relief flooded her body. At first he seemed to steel himself to her actions, but then his hands squeezed the soft flesh under her t-shirt, and his mouth moved against hers, dragging along her seeking mouth. His tongue wet her lips, and she instinctually opened her mouth at the silent request. It was an intense exchange, one that left her breathless and with an ache that was wholly different than that of regret. She rocked back on her heels as they let each other go. She stared at him with wide eyes, wondering if he'd expected quite that strong a reaction to a simple kiss. Though after their first kiss, she wasn't sure why she thought they were capable of sharing a simple kiss. She only knew that she had never experienced anything like that before.

She pressed her lips together lightly, noting the heat from him they still held. "I should get inside."

He nodded absently, still lost in the moment before. "Good night, Rory."

Her breath caught as he leaned down to kiss her cheek, and her eyes closed as he lingered with his lips at the smooth plane of her face. By the time she took a breath, he had drawn back, freeing her to open the door. She stepped inside and turned to get one last look at him. It was too late—he was already gone.


	8. Chapter 8

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

Anyone observing Rory would assume that she'd slipped back into her distracted state, brought on by a bad turn of boy problems weeks prior. She'd once again picked her way through breakfast, when she'd finally come down. Emily had eyed her with high suspicion, but had no specific reason to question her. Rory spoke only when ripped from her thoughts, but wasn't notably sad or angry. Her attention rather was simply not in the present moment. It remained on what had transpired on the patio behind the house, just before she made her way up to bed. Between the phantom feeling of Tristan's lips brushing over hers and her picture-perfect memory, the brief moment filled her mind to the exclusion of all else.

Her main hope was that their next meeting would be far easier than she imagined. She could think of no opening line that could smoothly encapsulate the shift in their relationship. She was largely dependent on him for social cues after that kind of a kiss. If he played it off as no big deal—a release of tension and nothing more—then at least she'd know where they stood. It was familiar territory, after all, pretending that nothing was going on between them, even if it now meant her denying greater urges to be close to him. Slightly more terrifying was the idea that he viewed the kiss as permission to treat her as his territory, with public displays of attention inviting a whole host of negative attention from the female population, Paris included. Either way, she couldn't be convinced the consequences weren't worth the experience.

As the morning wore on and she went through the first part of her day in a daze without sight or sound from him, she began to stop obsessing over the kiss and began to worry about his absence from school. He hadn't mentioned he might be absent that morning, but then he didn't exactly owe her any explanations for how he spent his time either.

"Were we supposed to go all the way through 13.8 in the trigonometry book?"

Rory pulled her locker door back just far enough to see Madeline leaning her back against the adjoining row, addressing Rory freely. That was unusual, as was the fact that she was alone.

"Uh, yeah."

Madeline cringed. "Crap. I knew Louise had it wrong. Looks like I'll be taking summer school after all," she groaned.

Rory frowned sympathetically. "Sorry. Why didn't you just ask Paris?"

Madeline stood up from her support, as if she remembered Paris' directive to steer clear of Rory. But instead of taking off with a flimsy excuse, she leaned in toward Rory. "I can't speed walk as fast as she does. And when I do catch up with her, all she talks about is the fact that the librarian is out to sabotage her. Well, that or Tristan."

Rory busied herself by rearranging the perfectly organized contents of her locker. "Maybe you can get partial credit by handing it in late."

"Doubtful," Madeline muttered. "Just between you and me, is it true?"

"About the homework?" Rory asked hopefully.

Madeline shook her head, her eyes ever inquiring. "You and Tristan. I thought you didn't like him."

Rory shut her locker with a snap. "Did Paris send you to collect information?"

It wouldn't have been the first time. Paris was relentless and single-minded in a way that was as impressive as it was annoying. "No! I swear. She's just off arguing with Mr. Medina about her paper."

"And Louise?"

Madeline smiled. "Making out in a supply closet near the teacher's lounge. At least, I last saw her as she dragged Brett Anderson in there a couple minutes ago. You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to."

Rory shrugged. "There's nothing to tell. We're friends. I never got why Paris is so obsessed with him anyhow. I mean, she sees the kinds of girls he usually goes for. I can't imagine she aspires to have a lower IQ and a penchant for the latest fashion and celebrity news."

"Her obsession with him began long before he started dating anybody," Madeline said, preparing to dish up long-lost dirt. "We were in primary school, over at Grant Park," she said, naming a private school for the younger set. "There'd been some big blow-up at a fundraiser their moms were involved in. I don't know exactly what happened, but it sounded like Paris' mom got called out for having an affair with the husband of the woman Paris' dad was rumored to be seeing on the side," Madeline explained.

Rory's face screwed up in distaste. "That's sick."

Madeline appeared unaffected. "My mom says it saved her a lot of money in divorce costs."

"And that's just as disturbing a thought," Rory muttered. "What happened then?"

"Well, of course the kids heard stuff. I swear, parents act like kids can't hear sometimes. And the daughter of the other couple, her name was Alexa—her family moved not too long after, I think. Anyway, she started yelling at Paris about how her mom was a liar and a tramp, and Tristan got between them and told Alexa to back off and leave Paris alone. Ever since then, she's had this whole white knight reaction to him. I think part of her secretly always wished that he'd realize that he wanted to be with her and they'd live happily ever after. But now that they've gone out, it's really put her in a bad place. Like her dream is dead or something."

Rory pondered the whole story. "I never would have pegged her for a romantic."

Madeline shrugged both shoulders. "Everyone has a soft spot for something, I guess. Even Paris. Oh, shoot, there she is. I should go. I should have worn different shoes."

Rory smiled at her well-meaning classmate. "Let me know if you need help with Trig."

"Thanks. And just so you know, I think it would be great, if the two of you ever were more than just friends. He seems to really like you."

Rory's smile faded. "You should go. Paris is walking so fast she's creating her own weather."

Madeline stifled a laugh and took her leave of Rory. Rory shook her head at the whole situation as she watched Paris and Madeline disappear toward their next class. She glanced the other direction and what she saw made her veins freeze.

Tristan was walking down the hall, wholly involved in a conversation with his ex-girlfriend, Summer. She was far too close to him to be discussing anything other than a private matter. Rory was too far away from them to hear even partial words, and she was a horrible lip reader. But still she stood and stared, unable to tear her eyes away, much as she wanted to. It wasn't until he noticed her that her feet began to move, away from him and to the safety of her next class as fast as she could go.

At least she didn't have to wonder any longer, she told herself as she slid into her seat, willing tears not to fall. He wasn't avoiding her and nothing she'd done made a difference to him. She could keep her memories of what had transpired, but that's all she would gain from him.

-X-

Rory exited the school quickly later that afternoon, having gathered all her necessary items to take home with her during the break before the last period of the day. It wasn't normally a time she went to her locker. In fact, she's spent most of the day altering her normal schedule. She understood the deal between her and Tristan, but she was happy to avoid any well-meaning explanation he might offer her on the matter.

Her bus stopped as it always had for her and only her; three-quarters full as usual and on its way back to Stars Hollow. She pulled out her latest biography of Edith Wharton, but she found her heart wasn't in it. She exchanged it for a novel, one that didn't remind her of her wounded pride. The ride was uneventful, and before she knew it she was stepping down into the middle of the usual hustle-and-bustle of a small town afternoon. After looking both ways on the street that was more crowded with pedestrians than cars, she jogged over to Kim's Antiques and entered the establishment.

"Rory Gilmore. You called your mother?" Mrs. Kim asked immediately as she greeted her non-customer.

"Um, no. Not yet," she added. Rory found it best to be as honest as possible with Mrs. Kim, as her disapproval was inevitable.

"Girls should obey their mothers. Girls who disobey their mothers end up in trouble. Are you in trouble?"

Rory faltered. "I don't think so. I just came to talk to Lane. Is she here?"

"She's studying."

"Would it be possible for you to ask if she could take a break? A short one? It's important," Rory added.

Mrs. Kim regarded her with distrust. "You sure you're not in trouble?"

"I promise. Please?"

"Fine. Five minutes. She's in her room. I'll set out tea."

The thought of any snack offered by Mrs. Kim made her whole digestive system quiver. "Thanks."

Rory climbed the familiar stairs to Lane's outwardly sparse room. It was a trip she'd been making for ten years. She knew she wouldn't find Lane upon first sight, though there were study materials studiously set up at the simple desk across from her made bed. Rory entered the room and carefully shut the door behind her. She crossed the room to the closet door and opened the haven that Lane preferred to while away her teenage hours in. Her own little den of iniquity. Lane had headphones in her ears, but nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden opening of the door.

"Rory? You scared me to death!" Lane admonished, willing her heart rate to slow to its previously relaxed state. Her greatest fear was her mother finding her stash of music and American teen paraphernalia. Most mothers worried about pregnancy or drugs in regard to their teenage daughters. Mrs. Kim warded against rock music and secular teachings of any sort.

"Sorry. Your mom's in the kitchen, making tea."

"Oh, no. She got these bran wafers today. They came in a crate. Any chance you're packing chocolate?" Lane asked with a pleading quality of a junkie.

Rory shook her head. "No, sorry. I came from school, and I skipped lunch." She'd skipped any chance of running into Tristan after seeing him with Summer draped over him. She'd thought she heard him call her name in the hallway as she avoided a confrontation, but she was almost certain it was wishful thinking. She didn't even realize she could walk that fast—she might have even outpaced Paris as she fled the potential scene in the halls.

"So, you're back?" Lane asked, the inevitable tension broken.

"Not quite. I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. I was awful the other day, about the whole you and Dean thing."

Lane reached out and grabbed her friend's hands as Rory had settled down in a seated position in the closet across from her friend. Lane's limited wardrobe that her mother provided allowed for quite a wealth of space for entertaining within the closet. Three would be a crowd, but they were happier as a pair anyhow. "No! I should have told you sooner. It was stupid to keep it from you. Of course you could have handled it."

"I know things between me and Dean have been tense. The whole town was trying to keep us from accidentally running into each other, it wasn't just you."

Lane's eyes widened. "I heard you two ran into each other the other day."

Rory looked down at her crossed legs. "Yeah. Outside Luke's. It didn't go well."

"Were you really there with another guy?" Lane asked, unable to hide her curiosity.

Rory nodded. "Yeah. Tristan."

"Oh, the jerk from Chilton?" Lane asked, never forgetting a single detail, even of the minutia.

Rory softened. "He's not really a jerk. He's not bad at all, actually."

Lane's face brightened. "You like him?"

Rory sank down against a pillow. "I thought I did. We kissed," she explained.

"At that party, right? Did Dean find out? Is that why he was mad? That's hardly fair, I mean, he dumped you!"

Rory shook her head. "No, I mean, yes, we kissed at the party. But we also kissed last night," she elaborated. "And Dean doesn't know. He'd have freaked out."

"So, did you and Dean break up because of Tristan?"

Rory felt her heart swell and constrict. "No. Dean, he… he told me he loved me. I didn't say it back, so he broke up with me. It had nothing to do with Tristan."

"Wow, that's huge. I don't know what I'd do if a boy told me he loved me," Lane said, the whole scenario unfolding in her mind.

"Here's a tip—say something."

"Noted. So, are you spending a lot of time with Tristan, in Hartford? Does Lorelai know about any of this?"

Rory knew her five minutes was growing short. "No, I haven't talked to Lorelai yet. I will, soon, but," she hedged. "I just wanted to make sure we were okay. I miss you, Lane, and I hate it when we fight."

Lane's face broke into a sad smile. "I hate it, too. I miss you. I miss real food, too, so come home soon so I can start eating your fries and half your burgers again, okay? I've lost weight since you've left and Mama's talking about putting me on a special protein regimen, and I do not want to know what that involves," she said with a shudder.

Rory smiled. "I will. As soon as I'm back, we'll meet at Luke's and we'll fill you up on milkshakes and fries while I fill you in on everything else."

"I can't wait," Lane said gratefully. The two girls emerged from the closet, as Lane shut her closet carefully to hide any and all evidence of her wayward habits. They made it to the bottom of the stairs, and Lane pulled Rory in for a hug. "Go," she whispered into her friend's ear, "get out before Mama sees you and force feeds you bran wafers. You have a nice smile-it'd be a shame if you cracked a tooth on food that your body can't digest."

Rory made her escape just in the nick of time, but it left her missing the last bus to Hartford. The last run was cancelled for the day, due to a mechanical issue. Rory groaned and did what first came to mind—to make a phone call and quell a craving for coffee. Having narrowly missed a gastronomic disaster, she was thrilled to have something not only palatable, but pleasing. She walked over to Luke's Diner. Luke was nowhere to be found, so she ordered a coffee and headed up the back stairs. It was a move her mother made on occasion, to suss Luke out to cook for them when Caesar just wouldn't do. Rory was far more timid than her mother, and began to rethink the whole act as she waited for her knock to be answered.

Luke looked much like he always did, in a flannel shirt, t-shirt, jeans, and his trusty ball cap. From the half-eaten food on the table behind him, she surmised she was interrupting either a late lunch or an early-bird variety dinner.

"Sorry. I just," Rory began.

"You okay? Is your Mom…?" he led with concern in his voice.

"She's okay. At least, I haven't heard that she isn't," she clarified. "I just wondered if I could use your phone. The bus isn't running."

"You need a ride?"

She shook her head. "I couldn't ask you to do that. Mom would find out and," she said with a heavy sigh. "Thanks for offering, though. I can call my grandparents."

He nodded and let her in. "Phone's over there," he said as he pointed. "So what brings you here?"

"Lane. I wanted to talk to her face-to-face. We fought the same day Mom and I did, and I just thought Lane was the easier of the two apologies."

He nodded. "So you two made up?"

Rory smiled. "Yeah. And I'm going to talk to Mom soon. Is she still mad?"

He hesitated. "She's concerned. It's like she expected this, but even still, she doesn't want to force you to come home."

"She expected this?" Rory echoed.

Luke shook his head. "You and your mom … most kids don't have what you have. Around thirteen or so, most kids can't stand to be in the same zip code with their folks. When I was thirteen, I used to hitchhike out to Woodbury and sneak into the drive-in with my friends. I got into all kinds of stupid trouble, just to get a rise out of my dad. Not because I hated him, but because that's what kids do. Of course, I still helped out at his store and did all the things I had to do, but it's normal for kids to show signs of struggling to get out of the nest."

"So this is sort of a delayed reaction to normal teenage hostility?" Rory posed thoughtfully.

He smiled. "Those aren't the words I would have used."

She let out a soft laugh. "It doesn't feel normal. Not talking to her. But at the same time, every time I think about everything, I just get so mad."

"You two will work it out," he said sagely.

"Yeah," she said distantly.

"But you have to be in the same room to do that," he said with authority.

"I know. But for now, I should call my grandparents. They're expecting me," she led, but what didn't need to be said was that Lorelai was not. Maybe she would be glad to see her, but after everything that had happened, she wasn't expecting her to show up for dinner or to study in the kitchen while Lorelai watched TV in the living room, shouting comments down the hallway at her at random intervals and making sure she had snacks to fuel her efforts.

"I'll give you some privacy. Come down when you're done."

She nodded. "Thanks, Luke."

Now alone in Luke's bachelor apartment, she picked up the old black rotary phone that looked far more like something to be found at Kim's Antiques. As she looked around, she noticed that quite a lot of what Luke owned seemed to be relics from his father's time or before. Luke always struck her as being nostalgic for some aspect of what his life used to be like that he missed. He wasn't one to discuss such feelings, but there was a melancholy vibe that he emitted at certain times. Maybe Madeline was right—everyone had a soft spot. She dialed carefully, not wanting to restart the longer dialing process if she didn't need to. When the phone finally began to ring, her grandmother was the one to answer it hastily.

"Hello?"

"Grandma, hi, it's Rory."

"Rory? Are you still at school?"

Rory hesitated. "Um, no. School let out a while ago."

"What? What time is it?" Emily demanded.

Rory glanced at the wall clock. "Four-thirty."

"Oh, for heavens' sake!" Emily exclaimed.

"Is everything okay, Grandma?"

Emily groaned. "I had an eye appointment this afternoon, and the technician that put drops in my eyes put too much in. I can't see a thing! I had to call a cab and leave my car at their office. I'm sending them the bill for that, they can count on that!"

"Oh," Rory said, disappointed.

"Where are you?"

"I'm in Stars Hollow, at Luke's Diner. I came to see a friend, but I missed the bus. I was hoping you or Grandpa could come get me."

Emily hesitated, forgetting her ire for a moment. "You're sure you don't want to stay and maybe have dinner with your mother?"

Rory closed her eyes. It had been too trying a day, and she'd made enough progress. She wasn't up to facing that daunting task. "I'd really rather come back there. Is Grandpa home?"

"No. He's been in meetings all day with Janlen Dugrey and his team. I could call him, and see if he can come get you. If not we'll just have a cab get you."

"If it's too much trouble," Rory began.

"Oh, it's no trouble at all. Now, you stay where you are, and I'll have someone to get you as soon as I can."

Rory breathed a sigh of relief. "Are you sure? I don't want to bother Grandpa when he's working."

"You are not a bother. And if he can't take a little time out of his busy day to make sure his granddaughter gets home safely, he can find somewhere else to sleep."

"Thanks, Grandma," she said and hung up. Not wanting to loiter, she decided to head back down to the busier diner and wait there. There was also a higher chance of getting fed. With coffee cup in hand, she descended the staircase and emerged from behind the curtain. Timing seemed to be her weak spot that day as when her feet hit the floor, the door opened to her mother entering the establishment. They stood staring at one another long enough for Luke to find them in the odd standoff as he exited the kitchen. He delivered a plate and moved to Lorelai. "Counter's free."

His next instruction was a pointed look to Rory, indicating she should also have a seat on a bar stool. Having nowhere else to go and figuring she owed him for free coffee and the use of his office phone, not to mention the offer to give her a ride to Hartford, she sat down dutifully next to her mother.

Lorelai took a sip of coffee while they sat in an uneasy silence that seemed to stretch on and on. It felt like ages before she finally spoke. "So, how's school?"

It wasn't surprising that she started with a safe topic. After all, it was no leap to assume Rory would either grow defensive or take flight at a demanding to know when she was going to come to her senses and return home, even though it was her right as a mother to go that route. "School's fine. Finals are soon."

"Who are you doing your paper on for Lit?" she asked, avoiding using the phrase Max's class, even though that's the kind of familiarity she associated with him. Rory preferred to try to maintain a more formal association, despite the circumstances, never using his first name if she could help it.

"Edith Wharton."

Lorelai nodded. "Good choice."

"Thanks," Rory said before taking her own long draw from her coffee cup. "How's work?"

Lorelai shrugged. "Busy. Michel's decided to enter some kind of beauty pageant, but he insists it's a male fashion appreciation review."

Rory all but choked on her coffee. "You're kidding."

Lorelai shook her head, smiling behind her mug. "Nope. He came in all huffy and ranting about how it wasn't fair that the contestant that went before him got the Calvin Klein underwear and he got stuck with Hugo Boss. Apparently that's a huge slight," Lorelai giggled. "I told him he was wasting his time, and that he should wait for the semi-annual blowout at Victoria's Secret."

"Are you going to the show?" Rory asked.

"And miss all those metrosexuals prancing to RuPaul? Are you kidding me? I'll be in the front row with popcorn and a fistful of singles," Lorelai nearly howled. Luke returned to take their orders, but more to check on them, Rory figured, as he knew the two of them could be left to their own devices with only coffee refills for an unlimited timeframe on most occasions. Today was different, and they warranted a watchful eye.

"Hey, Luke, have you ever done any modeling?" Lorelai asked, trying to pull him into the conversation. Rory's eyes shimmered with unleashed laugher, set to match her mother's.

"What?" he asked, taken off guard by her choice of topic.

"I'm just trying to picture you walking the runway with a pouty face and high-end underwear," Lorelai explained.

"Don't forget the manicure," Rory added. "You can't be metro without a manicure."

"And, no offense, but maybe a little light waxing," Lorelai added apologetically.

"Do I want to know what you two are talking about?" Luke demanded.

"Probably not. But if you ever want to hit the catwalk, I can totally hook you up. I have connections to the male modeling circuit," she boasted.

"I'll keep that in mind. Probably in a dark place that supplies my nightmares," Luke added as he wandered off purposefully to fill coffee cups of other patrons.

"Poor Luke," Rory mused. "He never knows what he's walking into."

"Aww, he's a good sport," Lorelai said with an appreciative glance his direction. "So, how are things?" she asked meaningfully.

Rory shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Mr. Medina talked to me."

Lorelai hesitated. "He is your teacher."

Rory shook her head. "No, about us."

Lorelai frowned. "He wouldn't do that. He knows that dating me doesn't mean being anything other than your teacher," she said, mostly for her own benefit it seemed.

"Well, then he's confused. He seems to think that dating you and offering me life advice are a package deal," Rory said with enough attitude to put her mother on edge.

"Then I'll talk to him," she offered.

"Did it ever occur to you that dating my teacher would be complicated? Oh, wait, you did realize that, the first time you dated and dumped him, which led to a very public kiss at my school. What's on the docket for the next one? I'd like to be prepared."

"Hey! I realize we didn't get a chance to finish this particular fight last week, but my relationships are not fodder for your stand-up material!"

"If they're off-limits to me, then keep them out of my school!" Rory pleaded, loudly enough for most of the diner to openly take notice, rather than overhearing while pretending not to as they'd been doing since the moment the two sat down.

"I like him, Rory. I tried to put my feelings aside, but what am I supposed to do here?" Lorelai asked.

"Well, if you like him, then by all means forget everything else. I've had such an easy time at school, so please add on the humiliation of my mother having an on-again, off-again relationship with my teacher!"

"You said you were fine with it!" Lorelai argued back, frustrated and emotionally wrecked.

"I was fine with it, when he was just the guy you were dating. Quietly, privately. Before he started trying to make me okay with it by having private chats at school, and you started keeping the fact that you two were dating again from me!"

"And you weren't keeping things from me?" Lorelai shot back.

"What?"

"I know you were upset over more than just the fact Dean broke up with you, but you won't tell me what really happened," she said, lowering her voice, but not enough.

"Stop! God, this is exactly why I haven't told you what happened! I don't want everyone knowing all my business," Rory exploded.

"You're doing a great job of keeping things from me—I don't understand a single thing you've done in months," Lorelai said, hurt audible in her words.

"Then it's a good thing you don't have to worry about what I'm doing," she said in response. Her mother opened her mouth to speak, but her attention was drawn to a new onlooker. In their heated confrontation, neither had noticed the comings and goings of the diner. To be honest, not many had left in favor of watching the shouting match. There was one notable addition, however, and he was standing a few feet from them, watching in silence and waiting for a lull.

"Can we help you?" Lorelai asked with irritation.

He cleared his throat. "You must be Ms. Gilmore."

"If you're here for me, you're sixteen years too late," she informed him.

"Your grandfather sent me. Do you still need a ride?" he asked, training his eyes patiently on Rory.

She felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. She could stay and prolong the loud and public fight with her mother, or she could leave and suffer and uncomfortably silent and long car ride with Tristan.

"Rory?" he asked after what must have seemed a long pause for such a simple question.

"How'd you get here so fast?" she asked.

"I drove fast," he answered succinctly.

"I should go," she said, mostly directed at her mother.

"At least you're telling me you're leaving. That's progress, right?" she asked stiffly, her attempt at lightening the moment poor at best.

"Yeah. Let's go," she said, standing and walking past Tristan to the door. He turned to follow her, but before he could go, Lorelai reached out and touched his shoulder.

"Hey," she said wearily. "Is she doing okay?"

"Why are you asking me?" he queried in return.

She rolled her eyes and fixed him with a knowing mother's stare. "Because you look like you've taken a vested interest. Or do you often drive your car out to the sticks on someone else's order?"

He glanced out at Rory, who was waiting on the sidewalk, pointedly not bothering to look back into the diner at the conversing pair. "She'll be okay. Fighting with you isn't easy for her."

Lorelai nodded in understanding. "Yeah, well, you should tell her that she's really got it down."

He smiled at the joke. "She loves it here. She'll be back soon."

Lorelai took in a bracing breath. "Don't drive too fast. And wear your seatbelts," she ordered.

He nodded and offered a quick wave. "I won't let anything happen to her."

With that he went to let Rory into his car, leaving her mother with only the assurance that she had yet another reason to worry about her daughter. He hit the unlock assist on his key ring and leaned down to open her door for her, at the same moment she reached out to perform the same motion.

She pulled back at the touch of his hand, as if he'd burned her. Instead of giving her space, he leaned in closer. "You're jumpy. That was some argument," he said quietly, the distance between them allowing a private exchange.

Her head turned away from him. "We should go."

It wasn't until she met his eyes again that he saw that her discomfort was about more than her argument with her mother. "Are you freaking out about the kiss?"

Her back prickled as if someone dragged something sharp lightly along her spine. "No."

"Oh, really?" he asked, in disbelief. "You aren't regretting it, even a little?"

She'd never enjoyed public displays of any kind, but apparently she was getting used to fighting for all to see. "I wasn't, at least, not until I saw you assessing your other options in the hallways," she snapped.

His eyes darkened. "You have no idea what you saw."

"My vision's pretty good. And I'd like to go home. Are we leaving any time soon?"

He pulled the door open with more force than was necessary and held it for her. Once she slipped past him and into the car, he slammed it shut. He took a few deep breaths as he rounded the rear of the car to his side. His one true advantage in the situation was that for as long as they were in route to her destination, he had a captive audience.


	9. Chapter 9

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

Rory stared out the window of the moving vehicle as Tristan followed the slow speed limit to the letter of the law. His gaze had been far more often on her then the street since he'd started back on the road. She'd have told him to pay attention to his driving, if she were speaking to him. Of course, if she were talking to him, she'd have asked him how he ended up being the one to come extract her from the very unpleasant situation she'd gotten herself into. But as she did not want to hear the specifics behind his chat with Summer—especially in the wake of their kiss the night before—she was inclined to just sit on her hands and watch the landscape ebb slowly by.

"Are you really planning on sitting there silently the whole way back?"

She reset her resolve and continued to pay attention to anything but him.

"I came all the way out to Stars Hollow to get you, and you aren't going to even speak to me, other than to toss accusations at me?"

She turned suddenly, offering him a glare. "I'm sorry. Would you like some gas money for your trouble?"

She witnessed the flash of anger in his eyes and his jaw set hard, with muscles along his neck straining. "Nothing's happening between me and Summer. Not for a long time."

The very thought made her gag reflex threaten. "Look, I get it okay? I don't need you to explain it to me."

"What exactly do you get?" he demanded.

"Tristan, I saw you. In fact, I've seen you together many times, usually backed up into a row of lockers. I know what it looks like when the two of you are together," she said, giving a heavy emphasis to her last word.

"So what? You think that just because I talked to her, or because she shows any interest in me, that's enough for me to start up with her again?"

She shrugged. "Why wouldn't you?" Her words came out quietly, not as harshly as the rest of her side of the conversation had gone thus far.

"You kissed me."

"I remember." Did she ever. It was the one thing she'd been trying to forget most of the day, in the light of everything else. Being in close quarters with him didn't help her memory fade. Even with her anger, she'd been tempted to repeat the act before they got into the car, due to sheer proximity.

"Are you going to pretend that this one meant nothing, too?" he asked.

"I didn't say that."

"Then maybe you should tell me what it meant. Because I was there, and I'm apparently clueless."

"It meant," she began, chasing the emotion that had gone into the kiss and nearly every exchange they'd had of late. "It meant that," she tried again fruitlessly.

"It's not a difficult question," he said impatiently.

"If it's that easy, then you tell me what it meant! I can't think, do you realize that, when I'm with you? When you get close to me, there's no thinking. I don't think, I say things and I do things, and it's only afterward that I think about the fact that you're leaving for the summer, and that you might not come back, and I don't know what's going to happen, but I know that I couldn't have stopped myself from kissing you."

Her little outburst was met by silence. The car was moving faster, as the speed limit had increased outside the small town's boundaries. There were somewhere in the middle of nowhere between Stars Hollow and Hartford.

"You've chosen now to fall silent?" she asked incredulously, figuring it would happen at the least convenient time. How many times had she wished for him to just shut up, either speaking the desire or just inwardly groaning it to her own mind?

"I'm relishing the idea of you calling me irresistible."

She crossed her arms and returned to viewing the scenery. "Way to keep perspective."

"You should talk," he shot back. "You don't even know why you kissed me."

She turned back to him, mouth agape with indignation. "Why did you kiss me?"

His attention was dedicated momentarily to the road, as if he'd neglected it too long. "I wanted to."

"You wanted to?" she parroted. If he was the one she was counting on to provide structure to their relationship, they were in real trouble. "I could have guessed that, since usually people don't kiss people they don't want to kiss."

"Why do you never let me explain, when it comes to the two of us? Just be quiet, for a minute, will you?" he pleaded, meeting her eyes to fuel the request. She sat back against the bucket seat.

"Sorry. Go ahead."

"I wanted to kiss you for … well, since I saw you, so months I guess. You not only seemed disinterested in me, but borderline violent in your rejection, so that night, when you came into the piano room, and you kept getting closer and closer and for the first time you seemed… tangible. So I kissed you."

"I take it you don't have the problem thinking in my presence," she said, impressed with his depiction.

He smiled. "It helps that I'm driving. It forces me to split my attention."

"I think it would be disastrous to operate heavy machinery while kissing you," she admitted, voicing the thought before thinking better of it.

"Now there's a theory to test," he contemplated.

"This isn't a science experiment," she chided.

"Funny you should mention science," he said with a chuckle.

"Because it's the most humorous of our subjects?" she asked, confused at the choice of segue.

"Because that's why Summer was sidling up to me in the hall."

"For science? I mean, I get the biology connection, but even for you, that's a stretch, don't you think?" she said with disgust.

"She's not passing chemistry. I have the top grade in our class, and she wanted me to help her with an extra credit project, so she can spend her summer sunning herself in the Hamptons instead of stuck in Hartford, trying to get the minimum passing grade."

"And she thought that climbing you was the way to ask?" Rory asked.

"It was her method of approach, which I might add was denied. I told her I had another private study partner, which was keeping my nights busy, to which she pouted and flounced off after my runner up. But I do appreciate the whole jealousy angle you're working," he said with a wink.

"I'm not jealous!" she protested.

"Then why are you a pale shade of green?" he volleyed.

"Probably from your driving. Hey, where are we going, by the way? This isn't the way to my grandparents. You missed the turn."

"Maybe I was distracted."

"Well, this is me, redirecting your attention. Turn around."

"Not necessary," he said flippantly.

"Where are we going?" she demanded.

"Home."

"To my home?" she checked.

"Not as such."

"Tristan!" she admonished. "You're supposed to take me home."

"And I am. No one specified exactly to whose home I was to take you. That should be noted for the record."

"What is the matter with you?"

"We need to talk. So I'm taking you to talk. At my grandparents' house. It's where I'm staying, and it's empty for the time being. My grandmother will be staying with her sister for a few days until things start to level off, and grandfather probably won't be home for hours. He's been in meetings with all his advisors since the news went public about my father being passed over for his successor. Grandfather announced his plans for the future of the company at the shareholder meeting this morning."

"If you need to talk," she began with full sympathy.

"I don't want to talk about all of that."

"Then what," she cut off, shaking her head as he pulled into an enormous private community. "This is where your grandfather lives?"

"Just about," he said, as the car eased down the main access road. "This is just one of his houses. He has a couple of vacation homes, and the main estate in Provence, which is more of a family home. It's been in the family for generations."

Her eyes widened as they pulled into the main drive for the Dugrey estate. She took in the lush grounds and the gardens, all building up to the main house. "Is your house this big?"

He shook his head. "Much to my father's dismay, it is not. The irony being that my grandfather isn't into shows of wealth and my father is. My grandfather bought this place because he wanted a wine cellar and my grandmother wanted a rose garden and a solarium. This place had all of the above."

"The only room I've ever wanted was a library," she said as they cruised up to the main garage.

"It has one of those, too."

"And tennis courts, a pool—is that a golf course?" she asked, craning back as he opened the garage door.

"Just nine holes," he said humbly.

"Oh, well, if it's only nine holes," she mocked.

"He likes golf," he defended the extravagance.

"I'm sure he does. It's just… so expansive. Do you ever get lost here?"

He shook his head. "I spent half of my life wandering around this place. And for the time being, it's home."

"For a few weeks," she said as he turned the car off. They sat without making a move to exit the vehicle.

"Yes."

"And then you're leaving," she said, her voice breaking a little at the end.

"Yes."

His responses weren't matter-of-fact. Rather it sounded as if he were just as remorseful about the eventuality as she. She studied him, under the dome light of his car. "Which makes this a bad idea."

"Sitting in a car?" he clarified, ever at the ready to divert her unpleasant thoughts.

Staring into his eyes felt much like standing at the edge of an abyss. She knew she'd get lost, and it would be a struggle to find her way out. "Wanting to kiss you."

His expression softened as he leaned in toward her. She could feel the pull he evoked, like a gravity that only applied to their bodies in relation to the other. The closer he got, the further she drifted toward him. They met at some point midway, colliding softly. His hand cupped her cheek, as his thumb stroked her face. It hurt to breathe air that they didn't share, and she closed her eyes as she worked to ease the pain.

As good as it felt, part of her was screaming inside about how wrong everything else in her life was heading. She put her hand over his, and curled her fingers around the flat of his hand, pulling it down.

"We should talk."

"You're good at mood killers, aren't you?" he quipped, everything about his body language poised to go back in for another kiss.

"I'm getting out of the car. So unless you're going to join me, chances are I'll get lost, and then you'll have to send a search party for me. Have fun explaining that to both of our grandparents."

He sighed. "Fine. We'll go inside."

She stiffened. "But not to your room."

He eyed her quizzically. "I was thinking more like the kitchen. I'm hungry," he informed her. "Do you want to see my room?"

"No!" she uttered far too quickly. "I mean, I'm hungry too. We should eat."

He studied her again for a minute. "Do you always freak out after someone kisses you?"

She considered her track record. "Not every time."

"I saw you kiss Dean. You seemed to have your wits about you then."

She cleared her throat. "Kissing you is different than kissing Dean."

That earned her a raised eyebrow. "Is it?"

His interest stoked her annoyance. "I didn't say it was a good difference."

"You can lie all you want, but you can't convince me you don't enjoy yourself. I'm the one you're kissing."

She opened her door. "Shut up."

He got out and stood with his arms resting on the roof of the car. "So you don't want to talk?" he asked knowingly.

"Kitchen. Now!" she ordered.

"Fine. Follow me, and stay close. I'd hate to lose you."

Her feet stopped short as she had been walking toward him in the cavernous garage. "I'm right behind you."

He nodded and turned to lead the way into the main part of the house. Rory glanced from side-to-side as certain things caught her eye—works of art, family photos, and what looked like the library as they passed by room after room. They finally crossed to the rear of the dining room and into the kitchen, which opened up into an array of storage and preparation space. There was a woman cleaning the top of the professional grade stove, who turned as Tristan made his way to the inset refrigerator and opened it for inspection.

"Can I help you?"

Tristan turned and smiled. "No need to bother you. I'm capable of grabbing something."

"I would hate to see what that would look like. Surely you won't subject this lovely young lady to the quality of what you can throw together."

"She's here with me. She's not picky. Are you?" he said jokingly, turning to Rory for corroboration.

"I don't want to be a bother," Rory said, clinging to his first claim.

"It's my job, Miss, to feed these Dugrey boys," the older woman informed her.

"And you do a fine job. My mother's chef, however," Tristan said with a shudder.

"Your mother has abhorrent taste in general," the woman stated. "If you'll pardon me for saying so."

"No skin off my nose," he said, turning back to the fridge. "Why is there so much fruit in here?"

"Your grandmother's request," was the only answer given.

"There's stuff for sandwiches," he said, starting to grab things.

"Give me that," the chef chastised him, taking all he'd selected from him. "Go sit at a table. You weren't taught to graze out of an appliance and eat over a sink."

He smiled. "Thank you, Greta."

"Do you have any dietary restrictions, dear?" Greta asked Rory.

"Oh, no. I eat everything."

Tristan smiled as Greta beamed. "I like her."

"Me too," he said, grabbing an apple and sprinting past Greta's attempt to smack him with a dish towel.

Rory watched the pair, and followed him out of the room. He gestured to the dining room. "Pick a seat, any seat."

"Where do you usually sit?"

"Over there," he said, indicating with the hand that held the apple. "But I'm not tied to it. And we won't be joined, so it's not like you're stealing anyone's seat."

"Greta could join us," she suggested.

He snorted. "Greta has better things to do with her time."

"She seems to like you," she commented.

"It's not that unusual," he defended himself.

"No, it's just… my grandfather never knows their maid's names. And Grandma certainly wouldn't trust one to be in her house when no one else was home."

"Not everyone with a house staff finds them so disposable," he said with a high level of condescension.

"Hey, you're talking to someone who regularly eats over the sink. And if I'm lucky there's food in the fridge that hasn't gone bad."

"I forgot. Born in a shed, right?"

"I wasn't born in a shed. We just lived there for a few years. We actually lived with my grandparents when I was born. Mom was only sixteen when she got pregnant."

He didn't need time to do that kind of mental math. "No wonder she looked at me like that."

"Like what?" Rory inquired.

"Like I walked in out of her nightmares," he clarified.

"She was upset. It had nothing to do with you. I was awful to her."

"So the talking thing hasn't worked well for you today?" he assumed.

"Not with her. Lane and I made up."

"Are you hoping for best two out of three?"

She shook her head. "I don't know what to expect recently. Some days, I have good intentions, but I can't seem to control the things I say. With Mom—I know she isn't choosing Max over me. I know she loves me more than anything. I want to make up with her, even, but it just erupted out of me. I've always tried to understand, where my parents are concerned. They aren't perfect, but they're my parents. Lately, I just don't want to hear any of the same excuses anymore."

"You could always move to France," he offered to lighten the moment, but the reality crashed over his levity.

"God, listen to me. I'm fighting with my mom about boys and your whole family is imploding. And you're leaving the country," she said, tears escaping before she could attempt to control them.

"Hey," he said, rounding the table to reach her side. He put a hand on her shoulder and the other on the small of her back. "You're not the one being shipped off, are you?"

"My grandparents aren't going to France until fall," she said, sniffling as she glanced up at him with wide, shining eyes.

"You checked?" he asked, surprised.

She nodded. "Yes."

"I'm going to kiss you again. Try not to freak out," he said by way of warning. His hands were already primed to pull her close to him, and she didn't fight the motion. The kiss was just as disarming as the previous few had been. But they had also built up some level of familiarity with the act, and she found it easier to melt into him as their lips met. The noise of a throat clearing made them freeze, and Rory ducked partially behind his back as they turned to face the chef, who'd brought out two plates of what Rory was sure Greta thought of as a make-shift dinner, but appeared to be more like what occurred when Sookie was in charge of making sandwiches out of otherwise ordinary ingredients. Her stomach growled at the sight.

"Do you require some sort of chaperone?" Greta asked, eying the two of them suspiciously.

"We'll be fine. I'm taking her back to her place as soon as I feed her."

"I'm not your pet," Rory muttered, which made Greta smile.

"I have some inventory to do, then I'm leaving for the evening. You know how to reach your grandfather?"

Tristan nodded. "I do. Thanks, Greta."

Rory sat down in front of one of the plates after Greta left the room again. She was thankful for the interruption. So far they'd never been left to endless time in which to kiss. She was fairly certain that would lead to much more than it had with Dean. "This looks amazing."

"Greta's a world-class chef. She was working in a restaurant in Paris when my grandfather found her years and years ago. She goes with him and my grandmother, when they stay in Provence."

"She wasn't kidding about feeding the Dugrey men, huh?"

He shook his head. "Though from now on, I'd imagine she'll have to feed fewer of us."

She put her hands in her lap. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"No. It is what it is. My family isn't going to transform into some close-knit unit. Just because you're related to someone, doesn't mean you have to get along with them."

"Yeah," she said, plunging into thought. There was no outcome she could foresee to make his family whole instead of fractured, just as she couldn't go back in time and prevent the rift that had occurred in her own family's life.

"There's no drinks," he said, changing the subject. "Want anything specific?"

She shrugged. "What do you have?"

He stood up and motioned for her to follow. "Come see. And this time, stay close. It's easy to fall on the stairs."

"The stairs?" she asked as she trailed along in his wake. Instead of heading the kitchen, he veered off toward the service pantry, and a small hall that extended out. From there, he entered a stairwell that might lead down to a basement, though the stone-lined walls made it feel more like they were descending into a chamber. The temperature was cooler, to be sure, given the building materials and the fact they'd gone underground.

He flipped the switch on the wall and illuminated the large wine cellar. Rack after rack of wine filled the majority of the room.

"This so wasn't what I had in mind," she said, impressed again at this part of the house.

"And I thought your imagination was better than that."

She glanced around more. "I thought you'd offer me a soda."

"Those are over there," he said, pointing to a set of refrigerated cases, which held beer, soda, and other beverages.

"The kitchen isn't easier to access?" she joked.

"My grandfather is a firm believer for a place for everything and everything in its place."

"This is taking that to excess," she determined.

"Pick anything you like," he said, moving to get a bottle of water out of a case.

"Even wine?" she joked.

"If you like," he shrugged. "My grandparents were raised in Europe, and they're not so strict on the American drinking age. Wine's a family drink," he said, as if he were quoting some adage he'd heard for years.

"Is this your family's wine?" she asked.

He nodded. "Most of it. Grandfather likes to keep tabs on what's out there, but he also believes he has the best of the best, for what he makes."

Rory hesitated and reached out to touch a temperature-controlled bottle. "Is it good?"

He grabbed a bottle and moved over to a bar area, where he began to open it. When he grabbed a glass, she stepped over to stop him. "I didn't mean you needed to pour me some."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not offering you the whole bottle. Even if you like it," he said. "I have to drop you off at your grandparents later, and I don't think they'd look kindly on me having to pour you out of the car."

He held out a small sampling in a wine glass. She took hold of it and stared down at it with caution. She wasn't a drinker. She wasn't much of anything that was considered off limits to her age group. She knew her mother had drunk much harder stuff than wine when she was sixteen. Of course, her mother had done many things by age sixteen that Rory was happy to avoid.

"It's sweet," he said as she decided whether or not to drink it. "Hold the glass up to your nose and take a breath in, before you drink it. Try not to swallow it too quickly, or you'll lose some of the flavor," he instructed.

His words calmed her, and she did as he suggested. It didn't have the harsh smell that her mother's mixed drinks often boasted. It was fragrant and sweet, and it tasted brighter in her mouth. She swallowed and licked her lip, offering him the nearly empty glass.

"That was good."

"I'm glad you approve. I helped harvest those grapes."

"You did?" she asked as he rinsed the glass and set it to dry. He reached in and grabbed another water bottle, handing it to her.

"In family businesses, you learn the whole thing, from the bottom up. Even when you're not set to inherit the reins."

"So is it what you want to do? Make wine?"

He paused for a moment and surveyed the racks. "Sometimes I can see myself, being older, and living in France. Coming out after a long day of work and enjoying a glass of my own wine with dinner, while looking out over the vineyards. To know I made something; not just pushing numbers around or working behind a desk while worrying about other people's problems… it doesn't sound like a bad life."

"You like it there," she said with realization. It wasn't just a place to run to, as her grandparents' had been to her. She hadn't grown up with a love for their house, sensing a sort of home that she was denied otherwise. She'd gone to get away from everything familiar. What he knew, where he was supposed to feel safe, that was an unknown for him.

He had a far-off look in his eyes. "You'd have to see it for yourself. It's just a whole different way of life there. All my good memories as a kid, they're when we were there. Hartford is our home base, but it's not the same."

"I'm glad you'll be happy there," she said, not meeting his eyes. Her sentiment was sincere, but it was a hard thing to be happy about, his leaving.

"Rory," he said softly. "I'm not there yet."

She nodded, but didn't dare speak. She'd already run the full range of emotions that day, and she didn't want to cry any more. But her eyes showed the threat of tears, and he grimaced.

"I shouldn't have brought you down here."

She shook her head. "No. I'm fine. It's just I hate the feeling that we're starting something we can't finish."

He nodded. "I know."

"I'm not hungry anymore," she said with regret.

"Come on. I'll take you home," he said with the same inflection.

-X-

It was late, but she knew time wasn't an issue. Rory picked up the phone in her room, far after she'd said goodnight to her grandparents and finished that evening's studies. No matter how she went over it in her mind, she couldn't deny what she felt for Tristan. It felt doomed in a Shakespearian way. She'd felt so awful about Dean, fearing that her reaction was proof that she was lacking in the ability to love somehow. She was afraid that it was some kind of learned behavior that she'd been denied the exposure in order to mimic. After all, when a guy as great and understanding as Dean Forrester says those three magic words, there must be some sort of default deep inside that was broken if she couldn't say it back-if she couldn't feel it in return. And she knew it was hasty to pretend to know what love was, or to say she felt it for Tristan—but she knew that losing him would be an ache that was far harder to bear than simply letting Dean down.

The only other person she knew that understood the plight of the star-crossed lovers was also the person that she wanted to be able to share all the major happenings of her life with. It felt as if she'd been waiting for something to fall into place before she shared the whole of the situation. She dialed before she lost her nerve.

"Hello?"

"Mom? It's me."


	10. Chapter 10

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

"Is this a bad time?" Rory asked as she sat on her bed, against her pillows and clutched the receiver like a lifeline.

"No, I was just watching some TV," Lorelai answered. Rory could imagine her sprawled out on the couch, with a bowl of popcorn on the table in front of her and the remote getting a workout.

"Anything good?" Rory said, beating around the bush.

"Not really. Is everything okay?" she asked, most likely due to the nature of the late hour.

"Yes," Rory answered automatically, then thought better of her answer. "Actually, no. Everything's kind of a mess. I don't know how everything got like this."

"Come home," Lorelai said, in a way that Rory could tell she'd been holding back for days.

"It's late," Rory said lamely. "I'm so sorry, Mom. I don't know why I've been so defensive and angry lately. But being here isn't helping, and I just need to talk to you."

"I'll come get you," Lorelai said firmly.

"It's so late. I don't want to make you leave and drive all this way at night and to wake up Grandma… how about tomorrow, after school?"

"I'll be there," Lorelai assured her, ending any doubts Rory had about her state of welcome. "Do you want to talk now?"

Rory paused, wondering where to start. "Dean told me he loved me."

Lorelai sighed softly, empathetically. "I know."

"You do?" Rory asked, surprised. "Did he tell you?"

"Yes," Lorelai admitted. "When I went in to the market, to give him a piece of my mind for hurting you. Poor kid, he had every right to defend himself. I don't know what I was thinking, other than it sucked to watch you be so miserable."

"He was so hurt. And at the time I didn't know why I couldn't say it back."

"You wanted to?" Lorelai asked, her voice upbeat in an encouraging way. It was no secret that Lorelai liked Dean. He was exactly the kind of guy any mother hoped her daughter would find. Dean was the kind of guy she'd always hoped to find. It had seemed like she was getting everything she wanted at the beginning of the year—the perfect boyfriend, her first kiss, entrance at a top school… it'd been a while since she'd longed for those things.

"I didn't want to hurt him. He's a great person, and he never did anything to warrant me breaking his heart like that."

"So you don't love him," Lorelai said, relieved to at least have a handle on what her daughter was thinking after all that time.

"No. I wasn't sure at the time, but I know now. It would have been worse to say it when I didn't mean it."

"We can't choose who we fall in love with," Lorelai soothed her, from a place of ultimate understanding. "Trust me, I wish we could control those things. Your father would be Sting, by the way."

"The tantric sex guy?" Rory groaned.

"Your generation is very jaded. He is better known for being a founding member of The Police," she schooled her daughter.

"Yeah, I'm sure some band from the eighties is going to out-blurb his professed penchant for hours-long sexual encounters," Rory mocked.

"I'm not saying I wouldn't encourage the practice," Lorelai joked. "As long as there were coffee breaks."

"Too much information," Rory grumbled. "Speaking of which," she led.

"We'll talk about Max. I've already told him that we need to keep things separate from you, until things get to a point that he becomes involved in our daily life."

"Is that… likely?" Rory asked gently.

"Maybe. I really like him. I've never been one to rush into relationships—and you know I've done everything I can to discourage him. But he seems up for the challenge, anyway. Do you hate that I'm dating him?"

"I don't hate him. I don't like the situation. I'd be easier if he weren't my teacher. Actually, if he weren't my teacher, I'd probably be thrilled about it."

"Remember that whole thing about how you can't choose who you fall for?" Lorelai pulled in a parallel, hoping for at least a working understanding between the two of them.

"The school year's almost over. After that, everything will change," Rory said, her sadness sweeping over her yet again.

"Are you okay?" Lorelai asked. "Something else is going on. Are things okay with Mom and Dad?"

"No, they're fine. They've been great, really. It's," she squeezed her eyes shut. She could still see Tristan as they shared the space of the stoop in front of her grandparents' house. He'd leaned over her, whispering into her ear before giving her a kiss goodnight. "Remember the guy that came to get me tonight?"

Lorelai let out a heavy sigh. "I had a feeling he'd come up again."

"That's Tristan."

"Whoa, wait a second. _That's_ Tristan?" Lorelai asked, having heard the name many times, but never having had an opportunity to lay eyes on the person behind the stories.

"The one and only."

"Huh. He's cute. I always pictured him having horns or a tail or something definitive to mark his evil nature. Possibly a tattoo of six-six-six on his forehead."

"He's not evil. He's," Rory thought for a perfect description of him, but failed. He was many things. Unfortunately, soon-to-be-gone was the most prominent descriptor that sprang to mind. "He's leaving."

"Where is he going?"

"France," Rory said, full of regret.

"Wow, I've heard of the rich shipping their problem children off to boarding schools, but that's kind of far, isn't it?"

"He's not a problem child. It's a long story. But the point is, I like him and he's leaving in a few weeks."

"Oh. So it's not just him."

"What do you mean, it's not just him?"

"It was pretty obvious, despite the fact that you were clearly mad at him, that he cared about you."

"You got that from a quick five-second exchange in the diner?" Rory asked, amazed at that level of skill in reading people.

"Well, I did have a chat with him, after you went outside."

"What did you say?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I've been really worried about you, and I miss you. The house is quiet and your room is empty. No one will play bagel hockey with me. Well, Luke tried, once, to cheer me up, but he's really bad at it. Like, embarrassingly bad. Kirk beat him."

"Wow, that is bad," Rory acknowledged. "I'll definitely be home tomorrow."

"Good. We can sort things out, and maybe we can come up with a solution to your problem."

Rory didn't feel hopeful at that offer. "Can you make France be closer to Connecticut?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of a day of pampering after he leaves."

"He's not gone yet," Rory said, reliving his previous sentiments. She had thought he was simply trying to cheer her up, but she wondered if he wished for time to make some kind of strategy that would allow him to stay.

"Maybe things will work out. There's still time before he goes, like you said," she said without sounding hopeful about the idea. "You should get some sleep. It's a school night."

"Okay. Goodnight, Mom."

"Goodnight, kid. See you tomorrow."

-X-

"I need a manicure."

"I thought you just got one."

"I did, but the color makes me look sickly, like I have mono or something. What do you think?" Louise asked as she held up one perfectly groomed hand to her face for contrast.

"It's not the color of your nails, it's the fact that you're the most likely carrier of a disease that's spread through kissing at this school," Paris barked, ending the debate over personal grooming that her friends were deeply engaged in. "You're lucky if mono is all you're spreading around."

Madeline raised her eyebrows at Louise. "I think I need a tan."

Louise shook her head. "With your creamy complexion? That would be a sin."

"That's why you think she shouldn't get a tan? Because pale is in? Not because of the exponential risk of skin cancer? Oh, my God!" Paris said, glaring at the two of them.

"Isn't it a bit early to be evoking a higher power to get you through the day, Paris?" Rory asked cheerfully as she opened her locker and joined the trio for the ritual of early morning preparation for the day ahead.

"I don't believe in a higher power," Paris snapped.

"Because you'd have to admit that someone else had greater intelligence than you?" Rory guessed.

"Ooh, Rory gets in a good one," Louise cheered in what could only be described as sultry manner. Rory sometimes wondered if Louise practiced her moves in front of a mirror. Chances were high that she did.

"Religion is just a security blanket for the masses," Paris interjected, trying to put up her side of the argument.

"I believe in angels," Madeline offered.

"Of course you do," Paris muttered as she slammed her locker shut and left without another word. Louise and Madeline waved at Rory and wandered off at a more leisurely pace behind Paris, picking up their conversation on skin tone.

"You look happy."

Rory turned to see Tristan approaching her locker. She stepped toward him and shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. "I just annoyed Paris."

He smiled. "And here I thought it might be the fact you were looking forward to seeing me that had your spirits so high."

She shook her head, assuming an unimpressed expression. "Nope. Haven't given you a thought at all."

He took a step in, so that the distance between them was roughly the width of her open locker door. "I didn't mean to upset you last night."

She looked down at the floor. "I know."

"I haven't had much time to work on Medina's paper outside of class," he began.

"Or inside it," she pointed out his recent tardiness and early morning absences.

"That too. Can I come over later?"

She went flush at the inquiry. "I… I won't be at my grandparents."

He frowned in disappointment. "No more pool house?"

She shook her head. "No. I called my mom last night. We talked, and she's coming to get me after school. I mean, you could come there, but it's a lot farther away and not nearly so private."

"Would your mom mind?" he asked.

She shook her head. "She'd probably rather have you in her house than the two of us stowed away in the pool house at Grandma's with no watchful eyes on us."

"I actually have the exact opposite desire," he said into her ear, making her start.

"I…," she began, words literally disappearing from her memory before she could form them.

He smiled at her reaction. "It's good that you're going home, though. Right?"

She managed a nod. "Right."

He paused. "Mr. Medina won't be there, will he?"

She shook her head. "That would be awkward. Mom said she was going to keep him separate from me, outside of school. For the time being."

He leaned in toward her, but stopped short of a kiss. Her breath caught as he held himself back within striking distance. He swallowed as he eyed her lips. "Is this okay?"

"Yes," she said, barely whispering the word before he kissed her. It was over in an instant, and as strange as she thought it might be to kiss someone in school, it would have felt more foreign to have held back from him. "We should get to class."

"Aren't you going to shut your locker?" he asked, noting her one oversight.

"Oh, yeah, probably a good idea. If I don't, Paris would probably be the one to see it first and pour hydrochloric acid from the chem lab all over it. She's having a bad morning; it seems unwise to give her extra opportunities."

"You must have really annoyed her."

She shrugged. "Nothing special. Usually just my presence in her life is enough to rub her the wrong way."

"You are difficult to ignore," he agreed.

"I am?" she asked, taken aback by the notion.

"Damn near impossible," he assured her in a low tone, meant for her ears only.

"I'd hate to be an unwanted distraction," she offered coyly.

"I never said I didn't want you," he said immediately, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

She swallowed. If there was an appropriate response to that particular statement, it was assuredly highly suggestive. She had a hard time with that form of verbal banter. His ease with the whole issue kept her on edge. Each time, she could feel herself being drawn closer and closer—soon she would have to worry about what might happen if she fell over it.

"So, you'll come over later?"

He smiled. "I'll be there."

-X-

Emily sat on the edge of the settee, while they waited for Lorelai's arrival. Rory was still in her Chilton uniform, having just arrived home from school. The conversation had grown stilted after Rory had talked to her mother and informed Emily she'd be leaving that afternoon.

"Do you have everything packed?" Emily asked after a while.

"Yes. It's not that much anyway, just some clothes and school stuff."

Emily nodded. "And your mother is definitely on her way?"

Rory smiled. "Yes. Grandma, I can't thank you enough for letting me stay."

"Oh, it was our pleasure. Truly. It gave us a little excitement from our usual routine. I'd forgotten what it was like to have a teenager in the house. Though I wish you and I would have had more time to pal about. Maybe once school's let out, you and I can spend some more time together. We could go have lunch after your classes, perhaps."

Rory smiled. "I'd like that. And I'd still like to go to the functions you mentioned."

Emily brightened. "You would? How lovely. Are you sure you'll have time?"

Rory's shoulders slumped. "Yes. School won't take up that much of my time. I have the whole summer free other than that."

Emily gave her an appraising look. "Was there something else you'd planned to spend your time on?"

Rory shook her head. "No, not really."

Emily cleared her throat lightly. "It was nice of Tristan Dugrey to offer to go all the way to Stars Hollow just to pick you up last night. Richard said he wouldn't accept any compensation for his trouble, either."

Rory shifted in her seat. "Grandpa offered to pay him?"

"It was the polite thing to do. Your grandfather thought perhaps Tristan might have been glad of the excuse to see you."

Rory fidgeted some more. "Maybe he was just eager to get out of all those meetings."

"He told you about his family's business?" Emily asked.

"A little. I know his father's unhappy and that Tristan's going to France this summer."

Emily blew out a breath. "Parry was born unhappy with his lot in life. Nothing has ever been enough for that man. I was shocked when he agreed to marry Clare. He'd never done a thing his father had wanted in his whole life."

Rory frowned. "Janlen set them up?"

"Clare's family was in the wine import business, and the pairing was supposed to be beneficial to expanding both families businesses. It wasn't a truly arranged marriage, but these things are often heavily impressed upon, rather than outright forced. But it was hardly by chance they met."

"I'm too late! You're discussing bloodlines and arranged marriages, aren't you? Oh, God, did you join the DAR?" Lorelai asked in a mocking tone as she joined the pair and grabbed hold of her daughter's shoulders melodramatically.

Rory hugged her mother. Lorelai held her tightly for a minute in return.

"What would be so wrong with her wanting to join the DAR? She's eligible. As are you, I might add," Emily said defensively.

"Then they've clearly let their standards slide," Lorelai shot back good-naturedly before turning to examine Rory at arm's length. "Did Grandma arrange a marriage for you?"

"I'm sixteen," Rory said with a roll of her eyes.

Lorelai smirked. "She tried to plan my wedding when I was sixteen."

"That was an entirely appropriate response to the situation," Emily said with a staunch crispness.

"I'm just saying it wouldn't be completely out of character," Lorelai said innocently.

Rory rolled her eyes. "We were not talking about me. We were talking about a friend's parents. Oh, and plans for the summer."

"Rory agreed to accompany me to the flower show at the botanical gardens. Would you like to join us?" Emily asked.

"Uh, I think I'm busy that weekend," Lorelai answered quickly.

"I didn't mention the date."

"Is it this summer? Because my summer is action-packed. It's like my very own summer blockbuster that just won't end. There's even a car chase, with a helicopter in pursuit and road blocks on the highway," Lorelai explained.

"A simple, 'I don't want to go, Mom,' would suffice," Emily said with exasperation.

"Oh. Well, in that case, I don't want to go, Mom."

"Fine. I'll see you both for dinner on Friday?" Emily asked.

"Of course, Mom," Lorelai said graciously. She turned back to Rory. "Do you have all your stuff?"

"I'll have the maid help bring it out," Emily said, stepping away to gather her help.

Lorelai turned to Rory and gave her a bracing smile. "So. A few changes since you've left. I thought about making your room into an exercise room, but I didn't have any exercise equipment except an Ab Roller and an old ThighMaster. It seemed a waste of space. So, instead, I thought about what I've always wanted and it hit me. My very own taffy puller. The machine is pretty big, but it fits perfectly in your room. And bonus, fresh salt-water taffy at home."

Rory hugged her mother again. "I missed you."

Lorelai pressed her cheek into the crown of Rory's head. "I missed you too."

Rory pulled back and sighed. "The friend we were talking about was Tristan. Grandma and Grandpa seem to think he likes me."

"Grandma and Grandpa might have a little wishful thinking thrown in there, but I can't say I disagree. Was that his family you guys were discussing? Sounds even more messed up than we are. And that's no small feat. I'm a fierce competitor."

"His dad sounds awful," Rory said with a nod.

"If things are that bad for him, maybe his going to France will be for the best," Lorelai said gently.

"I guess. Oh, and speaking of Tristan, he's coming over later. We're studying together. Is that okay?" Rory asked with big, hopeful blue eyes. It was a tactic she learned from her mother, but nonetheless was fairly effective.

"Tonight? It's your first night back! I thought we'd go to Luke's and show him how to play bagel hockey like a real man and then come home and catch up with some girl talk."

"That sounds great, but with finals coming up I need the time to study. And Tristan will be gone soon, leaving me free all summer to hang out with just you," Rory added, adding a fine layer of guilt onto the request.

"And Grandma, apparently," Lorelai sniffed. "I guess I can't say no to studying," she said at last with a wistful sigh. "Studying isn't code for anything, is it? I can leave you alone for a few minutes without worrying about coming back to some scene from _Cruel Intentions_ or anything?"

"Mom! We're not even dating."

"Why not? You like him and apparently even Richard Gilmore realizes he likes you. That man never even realized I was dating Christopher until I showed him the pregnancy test."

Rory shrugged and diverted her attention. "What's the point? I like him, but he's leaving and there's nothing I can do about it. Plus, he hasn't asked me out… recently."

Lorelai eyed her daughter. "Aw, Honey, you're sixteen. You're allowed to date, even if there's no future in it."

"I know, but," Rory said, her chest feeling heavy at the thought. "I don't want to make things harder than they have to be."

Lorelai gave her a side hug. "Come on. Let's start loading up the Jeep."

Rory was glad for the break in conversation, even if it was just to load her few belongings into the back of the Jeep and say goodbye to her grandmother. Her home life might be getting back to normal, but she wasn't sure that anything would ever feel the same again.

-X-

In the end, Rory hadn't been able to avoid the lure of coffee as a pit stop on their way home. Instead of wasting precious study time, which Lorelai referred to with full-on kissing noises, they'd opted to grab take-out from Luke's along with coffee for the late-night session. Lorelai reminded her daughter that she wasn't cool with an all-nighter where teenage boys were concerned, even if he was a handy ride to school, and left the two of them to use the living room without her eagle eyes on them once Tristan arrived.

He'd entered the house with a curiosity that she'd never seen in him before. He made polite conversation with her mother, as he did with most all adults she'd seen him interact with, even making Lorelai laugh. She wondered how he was so adept at being at ease with older people. It was only after they'd settled onto the couch at opposite ends with books buffering the distance between them that he commented on his thoughts.

"You seem relaxed here."

She lifted her chin and diverted her attention from her book. "It's my house."

He shook his head. "I know, but… last time we were in town, you were so jumpy. And at school, you're very focused and detached. But here, you seem different. More like yourself."

"You weren't kidding about finding me distracting, were you?" she teased him for his analysis.

"It's nice to see. You should be this comfortable everywhere."

She was amazed at his ability to render her speechless with simple compliments. They were just words, but his hit her differently than other people's. No one had ever spoken about her in such a vivid way before. She ducked her head and focused intently on her book. "Um, thanks."

"You want me to shut up so you can read, right?"

She stole a glance at him with a sheepish expression. "That's not what I was thinking, but it's an excellent suggestion, given the fact that my mother is upstairs and could come down at any moment for any number of reasons, either real or fabricated."

He smiled. "Noted. I'll just be right here, reading."

He made a show of opening his book and finding his place. She watched with amusement as he pointedly paid her no attention at all. She readjusted her body so she was facing him as she lifted her book up to scan its contents.

"Rory?" he asked, still looking at his book.

"Yes?"

"You have plans every Friday night, right?" he asked, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

Her heart sped up. "Yes."

His clear blue eyes finally lifted off the page to meet hers. "What about Saturdays?"

Her mouth had gone dry, but coffee seemed a bad idea at the moment. She was wound up enough. "They're free, typically, for other activities."

He nodded, pretending to go back to his book, his question answered. Frustrated, she slid her foot out from under her other leg and pushed it against his thigh. Surprised by the act, he put his hand around her foot and held it still. His touch preoccupied her as his grip loosened. He slid his hand up her foot, to her ankle, and then to her calf.

"Did you need something?" he inquired, not moving his hand higher nor letting go.

"It just seemed like you began a line of questioning without finishing it."

"And kicking me was what? A way to jumpstart the conversation?"

"I didn't kick you. I nudged you," she corrected.

"I was right before. You're different here than you are everywhere else."

"Is that bad?"

"Not at all," he said sincerely.

"You're kind of weird here," she muttered.

"I'm a guest in your house. I'm trying to be on my best behavior," he informed her.

"Well, stop it. You're freaking me out. Don't you need your hand back?" she inquired as she fixated on their junction.

"Is it bothering you?"

"It's a little distracting," she admitted.

He smiled. "How distracting?"

"You're supposed to be reading!" she chastised. "Do you even have a working outline yet?"

"Okay, fine. You're right. I'll go back to reading," he said, doing as he said and further incurring her wrath. Feeling bold, she took his hand and moved it just a fraction above her knee.

His eyebrows rose as he fixed her with an expression that caused her heart to skip a beat or two. "Okay, now that's distracting," he said without faltering.

"Did you really just want to confirm that I'll be sitting around here on Saturday alone?" she demanded.

"I was working up to asking you to go out with me. I made no assumption that you'd be alone."

She smiled. "You want to take me out?"

"We could stay in, if you'll be otherwise alone," he said, giving her knee a light squeeze. She squirmed and guided his hand back down a few inches.

"I'd love to go out with you."

He smiled and went back to his book. "Good."

"Yeah," she said, smiling behind her own book. "Good."

For a moment, her present seemed a perfect resolution to everything she'd run from. If only she'd been able to shake the feeling that it felt too good to be true. Nothing that felt that good seemed to last forever, she feared. There was a time limit on her happiness, but given the alternative, she was choosing to gain what she could from the given opportunity. She might not have chosen to feel so strongly for someone that would leave her, just as she couldn't force herself to love someone that might have always stayed around. But at that moment, she did her best to just enjoy sitting next to him and feeling the touch of his fingers graze her leg as they studied. When it came to him, she was definitely happy for the constant distraction.


	11. Chapter 11

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

On the surface, it seemed an utterly typical Saturday. The first meal of the day, at least their first meal of the day for the Gilmore girls—though it was most people's lunch time—was spent eating their favorite breakfast foods at Luke's Diner. Due to the restaurants array of windows, the beauty of the spring day was vibrantly beckoning as they enjoyed their meals. It was unique, however because it was the first Saturday Rory had been back at home since her stay at her grandparents'. It also happened to be her first true date with Tristan, which had her spirits high, if not a little tightly wound.

"So, what's on the docket for the day?" Lorelai asked over her third refill of coffee. Her pancakes were half gone, as was three quarters of her bacon. A bowl of fruit that Luke had brought—as a joke, according to Lorelai—sat untouched aside from the strawberries that Rory had picked out and consumed with her waffles.

"You mean now that we've got breakfast nailed down?" Rory asked with a knowing smirk.

"You say that like this wasn't an achievement. It's not noon, and yet, here we are, dressed, groomed, and nearly done eating."

"It's like my taste buds get confused. I want breakfast because I haven't eaten since dinner, and yet the time cues make me think about a burger."

Lorelai perked up so fast that Rory could nearly envision a light bulb over her mother's head. "Oooh, I can't believe I haven't thought of this before. I have the perfect brunch food. Waffle burgers!"

Rory shook her head, shutting down the idea. "I think that's dangerously close to chicken and waffles."

"Hey! Do not knock chicken and waffles. It's the best hangover food of all time. Ask anyone. It should be considered a delicacy."

"I'll keep that in mind next time I'm hungover," Rory joked.

"Your college days are not that far away. I'd like you to be prepared on all fronts. My gift to you," Lorelai smiled graciously.

"That might be a good idea for a restaurant—you know, where all they serve is good hangover food."

"Oh, like milkshakes and hash browns," Lorelai began.

"Greasy tacos. Oh, and gravy as a side for any menu item or just by itself," Rory added.

"And of course the aforementioned chicken and waffles, and my newly concocted waffle burgers. Add a chaser of aspirin with every order and you're golden."

"And for those poor unfortunates who lose their appetites for the duration, bathrooms with tons of stalls, each big enough to fit someone to hold your hair back?" Rory envisioned.

"You have some shrewd business sense. Maybe you should scrap that whole journalism idea and go to business school. Maybe you and Luke could open this place when you graduate! I see a whole chain, international success," Lorelai encouraged. "Particularly in college towns."

Rory laughed. "Yeah, we can hammer out the contract later today."

Luke approached their table with coffee. "How is everything?" he asked, still pleased to see the reunited pair having a peaceful meal. His pleasure was directly related to the fact he continued to fill their cups instead of cutting them off.

"We have a business proposition for you," Lorelai said with an eager smile.

He frowned. "I'm not adding anything you suggest to my menu. We've been over this before."

Lorelai pouted. "It's not a single menu item. You have to think big. We want you to open a diner."

His frown deepened as he used his pen to gesture around the room. "I already did. You've been patronizing it, not to mention me, for years now. Did she hit her head?" he asked Rory.

Rory shook her head and fought back laughter. "She's thinking about a new diner. Themed."

He cringed. "Like one of those awful 50s diners? Forget it. There will be no dancing waiters or malt anything here."

"No, not 50s themed, though my tips would definitely increase if you danced on the counter to _YMCA_. You just need a hard hat to pull off that construction-worker look. Wait—was there a lumberjack?" Lorelai asked Rory, who shook her head. "Drat. Anyhow, the theme we thought of was a hangover theme," Lorelai corrected.

"You're supposed to be a role model. This is what you deem appropriate conversation with your teenager?" he asked, flabbergasted.

"She started it! She wanted a waffle burger!" Lorelai said, pointing her fork at her daughter.

"I did not! You were extolling the virtues of chicken and waffles. I just said I had trouble deciding between breakfast and lunch."

"You shouldn't have to choose!" Lorelai said, banging her open palm against the tabletop. "And at the Hangover Café, you would never have to choose," she said with authority.

"Well, you have to decide about the gravy," Rory said.

"Don't encourage her," Luke gruffed as he walked away without topping them off.

"I don't think he's going to help you with your restaurant," Lorelai said with a sigh as she watched him walk away. "But it's okay. You don't need him. You have vision."

"I also have a ton of studying to do. Which is what I'll be doing all afternoon, until I meet Lane to keep her company while she mans some table at the church to advertise the evils of sugar and starch."

"My two favorite food groups. Well, after caffeine. I swear, if Mrs. Kim had her way, I wouldn't be able to eat at all. Though that would help me be bikini ready for the summer," Lorelai mused.

"Because you plan to have time to lounge about on the beach this summer? Did I miss a memo about our summering at the coast?" Rory asked loftily.

"What did I tell you about squashing my dreams?" Lorelai asked, feigning hurt and dejection.

"I didn't know if maybe Max had some beach house somewhere or not," Rory said.

"Please. He's a teacher. He might read me a passage from a book about the beach… but I'm not with him for his money. I'm with him for his-," she began devilishly, but Rory cut her off.

"I beg you not to finish that sentence. It'll put me off my date this evening," Rory said with a shudder.

"You mean you and Lane and a stack of movies Mrs. Kim wouldn't approve of?" Lorelai mused.

Rory shook her head. "Lane's spoken for. Her mom arranged a night out with some future podiatrist and his extended family. But luckily for me, Tristan asked me out."

"But... you said there was no point in going out with him," Lorelai said, her voice halting.

"I took your advice. You were the one that said that I should go out with him. Remember?"

Lorelai appeared regretful for the motherly advice. "I don't fully recall."

"What are you, an Enron exec?" Rory joked. "Besides, what do you care, you have a date, too. This way you won't have to worry about leaving me home alone without anything to do. Right?"

"Well, I certainly won't worry about you being alone," Lorelai added.

"Wait. Seriously? You like Tristan. You've been nice to him every time he's come over this week."

"I've been polite to your study partner, yes," Lorelai amended.

Rory thought back to the study sessions her mother spoke of. Sure, they'd gotten some actual work done, thanks to the diligent and highly focused minds involved. But there had been breaks in their concentration—stretches where hands grazed exposed skin and mouths met in heated anticipation. It was by no means pushing the limits of moral impropriety, but it was far more scintillating than anything she'd experienced before. And it was absolutely something her mother might worry about.

"We're just going out on one date. We're not eloping."

"Are you sure? Have you asked him what his plans are and if they involve crossing state lines to find a boat captain with questionable judgment?"

"No, but feel free to ask him when he comes to pick me up," Rory said, encouraging her mother's outlandish line of thought. "Be sure to inquire about his plans to use me as a get-away driver when he robs a string of convenience stores, too."

"I'd hate to insult him," Lorelai sniffed.

"I just want you to have all your curiosities satisfied," Rory said with a sigh. "How long until you get over hating him? When he leaves?"

"For the record, I don't hate him. I barely know him. You barely know him," Lorelai impressed upon her.

"So you want me to keep a safe distance between us at all times and wear my Purity ring?" Rory queried for clarification.

"I just want you to be careful. And I'm not just talking about all the physical stuff. He's leaving soon, and if you get too attached, you'll get hurt."

Rory gazed down at the remnants of food on her plate. Her appetite had long since been satisfied and she couldn't eat more at that point if she wanted to. "I've already weighed the consequences of the situation," she said finally as she met her mother's eyes of concern.

"How can I like a guy that's by default going to break your heart?" Lorelai asked quietly, in all seriousness.

"Because it's what I'm choosing. And you support me, no matter what," Rory said without question.

Lorelai's eyes closed as she took in the reality of what Rory was getting herself into. "Okay. I won't hate him, openly. But if he crosses state lines with you in his car, he's dead meat."

Rory smiled. "I'll be sure to tell him all our dates are to remain local if he values his life."

"If you're sure," Lorelai began.

"I am," she said swiftly. "I'm going to head home to study while you pay the tab. I'll see you when you get back from work, and we can get ready together?"

"Probably a good idea. I may have borrowed some of your shoes while you were at Grandma's," Lorelai admitted sheepishly.

"Mom!"

"What? Did you want them to fall into disuse? They were lonely, I could hear them crying out in the night. They were almost as loud as your red sweater."

"I'll be searching your room when I get home," Rory warned as her mother blew her a kiss and headed to the counter to start another debate with the proprietor.

-X -

"So, that was," Tristan began with a shell-shocked hesitation once he and Rory were safely alone within the confines of his parked car just outside her house.

Rory glanced from her front porch to him. "Yeah. I know. I feel like I should apologize."

He shook his head to abate her. "No, I mean, I've gotten the full-court press from parents before, but nothing… quite like that."

"Sports term?" she asked with a wrinkle forming between her brows.

"Basketball," he said with a nod, but his thousand-yard stare remained.

"Mom doesn't hate you. I checked," she offered with a small smile.

"She doesn't like me," he contested, still not mollified.

"Well, she's working on it," she admitted. That kind of elevated status from Lorelai Gilmore took time that he didn't have.

"And poor Mr. Medina," he continued.

"Yeah. Don't worry about that. I think they still have … issues."

"Everything he said, she corrected him," he pointed out.

"I heard," Rory said with a cringe as she could practically hear a replay of her teacher's attempts to offer a suitable curfew and other guidelines before they left for the evening. "I think he means well."

"Maybe he thinks you need a father figure," he suggested.

"Got one of those. If Mom wanted to marry him, she could. Clearly that's not what she's looking for," Rory said, just barely loud enough for Tristan to catch.

"Fathers are overrated," he said with assurance. "Having them around all the time really isn't all it's cracked up to be."

She turned to him and smiled. "Maybe the grass is always greener."

He nodded, his eyes intensely locked on hers. "It's entirely possible."

She held his gaze for a while, until the desire to kiss him became great enough that she realized if she didn't change the subject, they'd never get out of her driveway. "So, where are we going tonight?"

"You think I'd lie to your mother?" he asked as he started the engine.

"I just don't know of a drive-in in Hartford. The last one near here was in Litchfield, and it closed two summers ago."

He shook his head, looking quite pleased with himself at pulling out a surprise. "Then I guess you don't know everything, do you?"

"I know that you don't have to worry about my mother," she assured him.

"Her bark is worse than her bite?" he guessed.

"Oh, no. She doesn't deal in idle threats. She'll mess you up if the situation warrants it. And she fights dirty."

He eyed her warily. "That's… more than a little terrifying."

She smiled. "But my point is, she knows I like you, so she'll be nice."

"That was nice?" he asked in astonishment. "That was intense, and it came out of nowhere. She's been nice all week. Tonight, she was scary."

"She's a little protective," Rory defended her mother's well-meaning show of psychosis.

"Hah," he barked. "A little. Have you ever seen _Misery_? You know, the movie where Kathy Bates plays a fan that's a little crazy?"

"Are you planning on incurring my mother's wrath?" Rory asked bluntly.

He was taken off-guard by the question. "No."

Rory smiled. "Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?"

"Except my nightmares," he acquiesced.

"I never pegged you for being afraid of anyone's mom."

"Your mom isn't like other moms. Which shouldn't be surprising, really, I guess," he relented.

Rory stiffened slightly and brushed a piece of lint off her shirt. "Because she had me when she was so young?"

He shook his head and put his hand over hers. "No. Because you're not like any other girl I've ever met."

She couldn't help but smile. It might have sounded like a stock line, given different situations or coming out of anyone else's mouth. But with the heat of his hand encasing hers, and the way his thumb stroked the skin on her palm, it made her utterly happy to hear.

"So, a drive-in, huh?"

He gave a curt nod. "Yep."

Her fingers interlaced with his, and she noticed the way they fit together well despite the difference in size. "Is there a snack bar?"

"I've got it covered," he answered vaguely.

"Are we going to a real drive-in?" she asked.

"Define 'real.'"

"If you don't want to take over your family business, you'd make a fine politician," she teased.

"We'll be seeing a movie on a very large, outdoor screen from the comfort of my car. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

She was quiet for a beat. "Which movie?"

He turned to her as they waited at a stoplight on the outskirts of Hartford. "Does it matter?"

It was almost always simple questions from him that shifted something inside her. There were things she had no answers for, for the sheer fact that she'd never thought she'd need them. He was causing her to consider all kinds of possibilities.

It took her a while to recover enough to give her answer once it materialized in her mind. "I guess not," she said, her breath rushing out of her with the words.

-X-

It was so much more than she'd expected. The effort it required, if he set it all up himself, was impressive if solely for the fact that he'd done it for her and for no other reason. She knew there was no shortage of big-screen televisions he could have offered in the house that shared the same grounds that would have allowed them a good view of any film. The experience wouldn't have been the same, and that—she realized—was the difference with him. He didn't settle for less.

"How big is this property?" she asked as he put the windows down.

"Big. And old. The barn is a relic from when it was actually part of a bigger tract of land that included farmland. Now it's mainly storage. It's actually full of antique cars at the moment."

Rory studied the huge white sheet that hung from the roof before turning to him. "So, you mentioned snacks?"

"I have a few things to set up. Stay there," he instructed as he popped his trunk and got out to start rearranging the contents. She heard the sound of something being placed on the roof of the car. He appeared at her open window and handed her a remote and a large box of theater candy.

"What are you going to eat?" she asked, shaking the contents of the box.

"I'm not finished yet," he said with a smirk as he went back around to the trunk. There was more rustling, and then he shut the trunk and returned back to his side of the car, arms loaded with drinks and more snacks. "I wasn't sure what you liked best, so," he said by way of explaining the selection.

"This is great. You know, you didn't have to go through all this effort. I'm surprisingly easy to impress," she admitted appreciatively.

Her words seemed to disappoint him. "I like to leave a lasting impression."

"You succeed," she said, selecting a package of Red Vines and tearing it open to extract a long, twisted piece of candy. "Want one?"

He took the offering, as well as the remote, and started the projector. Light illuminated the sheet, and she leaned in sideways toward him.

"What's the movie?"

"You'll find out in five seconds," he said with masked amusement.

She barely waited a millisecond. "Is it a scary movie?"

He turned to her with an impish grin. "Do you like scary movies?"

"I find it hard to engross myself in any form of entertainment that portrays women being dumb enough to go into a darkened basement armed with only a faulty flashlight during a power outage with a known sociopath on the loose in their area," Rory spouted.

"You enjoy foreign films, don't you?" he asked in pained way.

She swatted him with a Red Vine. "Shut up. Oh, I actually like this one!" she said, full of enthusiasm as the opening credits rolled on _Clueless_.

"She said with far too much surprise," he added. "Every girl likes this movie."

She turned to face him. "I wasn't doubting your taste," she backpedaled.

"It would seem a waste of time," he said, waiting for more of a show of support.

She frowned at him playfully. "It's just I didn't expect you to choose something that would keep my attention."

His enjoyment of the line of explanation grew. "And why is that? You think I wanted to bore you so we could end the evening early?"

A rush hit her, of just how indelicate her supposition had been. The moment she heard him say their destination was a drive-in, she had imagined his suggesting they move to the backseat for more comfort and a waste of film leading to intimate conversation and, eventually, a lack of need for words at all. Maybe she'd watched too many movies, but it was the allure of the drive-in; at least it was the allure of a drive-in with him. It was entirely possible that her thoughts of him were leaning far too often toward what might transpire between them when left alone without any structure or purpose. Her choice of activity with him would, at some point, include a shift of her personal boundaries.

"I didn't say that."

"What are you saying?"

"I just think the front seat might be a little cramped after an hour and a half," she said, watching his reaction.

He didn't bother holding back a knowing smile. "Well, I want you to be comfortable."

She leaned in closer, over the one drawback to the front seat—the dividing console. "You didn't really think I'd be bored."

His eyes trailed lazily from her eyes to her lips. "I didn't think you'd suggest sitting back there. I thought it was best to have something that you might actually watch."

"So what was all that before, about how it didn't matter what movie you chose?" she asked softly, so close to him that she could practically feel the first brush of his lips against hers.

"Bravado, mostly," he said, making her smile as he initiated the kiss. The movie began out the windshield, but they were far too invested in happenings inside the car. There were no pretenses of engaging in their surroundings, outside of the two of them. It was by no means a frenzied pace they set. The night wasn't endless, but time stood still with each kiss and heated touch.

She was enjoying herself, to the point that she needed to catch her breath. His fingers were wound in her hair, but he seemed equally in need as their foreheads rested together. "Having second thoughts about the backseat?" he asked.

She considered the destination. "Not for the reasons you think," she confessed.

"It's okay to not want to do certain things," he assured her.

"I want to be clear," she began, searching his eyes. "It's not that it's our first date, or that I think I'm not ready, or even just that I haven't ever," she said, feeling embarrassment that she'd never associated with the simple fact about herself.

"But all those things are true," he said in earnest.

"This is already going to be hard for me, when you leave in a few weeks. If we keep dating and I keep feeling all these things when I'm with you, and putting myself in these positions," she said with a heavy sigh as her eyes fluttered closed.

"Positions like in my backseat?" he asked knowingly.

She opened her eyes. "I don't want to have to think about the end, when it's just beginning. But I am. I want to be honest with you about that. I'm trying to just be in the moment and enjoy kissing you. Because I do. I think anyone would," she admitted freely.

"I haven't been thinking about the end at all. I literally can't focus on the fact that I'm leaving the country when school lets out. I mean, I'm doing all the things I have to do in preparation, and I'm studying for finals like I do at the end of every term, but it's like I'm on autopilot when I do any of that because all I can think about is when I get to see you next. And I don't care if it's on your mother's couch or at your grandparents' pool house, or in the backseat of my car. It's just all I can think about."

She let out a sobbing laugh. She kissed him then, harder and quicker than their typical collision. She pulled away just as abruptly and shook her head. "That's horribly short-sighted of you."

"I prefer single-minded," he said as he pulled her back in toward him.

"And that's enough for you? We get a few weeks and then it's over," she said bluntly, forcing him to face all her concerns.

His eyes closed as he continued to hold her in against him. "No. It's not okay."

"Maybe we shouldn't," she said quietly, hating to even speak the words.

"I'm even more not okay with that," he said instantly, dismissing the notion.

Frustration swelled in her. "Then there's no solution," she groaned.

"There's only one thing I can think of that helps," he said.

She was hopeful at his words. "What's that?"

"This," he said, leaning in once again to kiss her. The pressure of his mouth was slow and sweet, a faint tang of Red Vines shared between them. The swirl of pleasure that she felt from being drawn further into the kiss made her reach out for him. If his answer was being in the moment, to the exclusion of all else, who was she to complain?

"Wait here," he whispered as he pulled away. She opened her eyes and nodded wordlessly, taking the opportunity as he exited the car and returned to the trunk to lean back properly against her seat and try to settle the wild beat of her heart. She pressed her hands, one on top of the other, over her chest as she stared blankly at the on-going film. They were going to need interruptions, and constant ones, if she hoped to keep any distance between them at all. When her car door cracked open, she jumped and looked instantly to Tristan, who was holding a blanket and offering an outreached hand.

"It's going to be too hot in the car, even with the windows down," he said as a simple observation, but it warmed her skin even more as she stepped out into the grass and watched him spread the blanket out over the hood of his car.

"You're just full of contingency plans, aren't you?" she asked as he climbed onto his car and patted the spot beside him.

"I was a Boy Scout," he offered insight into his past.

She settled down next to him and laid back against the windshield to mimic him. "You were?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I like your tone. I was a good Boy Scout."

"I'm sure you earned loads of badges," she said agreeably.

"What about you, weren't you ever in any sort of service organization?" he asked.

She considered the question. "I volunteer for the Horn-A-Plenty every fall. And we prepare baskets for the Bid-A-Basket Auction every year. Oh, and I worked the Dunk Tank at the Spring Fling this year. Someone nominated me for the Kissing Booth, but my name mysteriously vanished from the drawing pool before the decision could be made," she explained.

"Not into kissing the masses?"

She shook her head. "I'm fairly selective," she admitted.

"Rory," he began seriously, but she rolled up on her side and put her hand on his chest. The move quieted him, but his eyes still showed signs of a coming admission.

"You don't have to qualify your past to me. I'm not one of those girls that can't handle the fact that you had a life before we started dating."

"Yeah, but," he tried to get a word in edgewise, but she wasn't interested in allowing him to get very far.

"Living in the moment, remember?" she cut him off.

He sighed in a relenting fashion. "Okay. If you're sure," he agreed hesitantly.

"I'm sure," she said, quiet but firm, before stretching her body along the lines of his. His head craned up to meet her in a kiss, relying on their tried-and-true method to lose themselves and quiet their troubled minds. His arm snaked around her, pulling her closer. They didn't have time to waste with false worry or petty concerns. And if after it was over all her memories were filled with the feel of his lips on hers and the pleasure of being pressed between him and the hood of his car, then maybe the means would justify the end.


	12. Chapter 12

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

AN: Sorry for the delay. Life is kind of off-kilter here. I hope the chapter is worth the wait.

Rory walked easily through the front entry and into the more formal sitting area of her grandparents' home. Finding no sign of her grandmother or grandfather, but an open set of French doors, she wandered toward them to see a whole group of older women, all dressed stylishly and sipping iced tea from matching crystal glasses, the sight of which stopped her in her carefree tracks.

"Rory! Hello, dear!" Emily said as all the curious eyes of those seated primly on the patio glued themselves to the teen.

"Hi, Grandma," Rory said with a too-wide smile, glancing with hesitation to the group. "I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

Emily stood and excused herself from her friends and joined Rory in the doorway. "Is everything alright?" she asked meaningfully.

"Oh, yes, fine. Everything's great. I just have a study session in Hartford later, and it seemed like a waste of time to take the bus all the way home and back. I thought I'd come and hang here, but I don't want to intrude if you're busy," she explained quietly.

"Your presence is never an intrusion! You're welcome to come out and sit with us for a while, or you could take over your grandfather's study if you'd rather do some school work."

Rory considered her options. "I think I'll study. I'm sure your friends are lovely, but with finals coming up, I need every last spare second," she declined diplomatically.

"We're just so proud of you. You go to the study and I'll have the maid bring you something to drink, how does that sound?"

Rory nodded graciously. "Thanks, Grandma."

Emily rejoined her group, leaving Rory to head back through the otherwise empty house to her grandfather's main escape. She set up shop in no time and lost herself in the review of chapters that she hadn't looked over in months. Finals were a daunting prospect mainly due to her extensive method of study, and the sheer volume of information covered in a semester at her school by each and every instructor was almost enough to alter her system. Almost, but not quite. She was wary of abandoning such time-tested methods.

She had nearly finished breaking down a whole section of biology notes when the door opened and Richard walked in. They were both struck with surprise as they considered the unexpected presence of the other. Richard smiled. "Rory. Were we expecting you?"

Rory couldn't blame them for their collective concern at her sudden appearance. "No, sorry, it was a last-minute decision. Grandma sent me in here to study. I have a study session in a little bit, not far from here, so I decided to just swing by. I'll get out of your hair," she said, standing up to gather her things.

"Nonsense! I just have a couple of calls to make. I usually just pace about in the hall while I talk. Keeps the blood pumping and all that, you know," he said with an easy smile. "Unless my talking will disrupt your studies?"

"No, I'm used to tuning Mom out. You could recite the Gettysburg Address on a bullhorn and I could still conjugate verbs in Spanish without batting an eye," she assured him.

Richard paused. "Do you know this from experience?"

Rory shot him a knowing glance. "Unfortunately, I do."

He nodded. "Very well. I'll just grab my address book. You stay there and continue. It looks like you're in the zone, as they say."

She smiled at his use of more modern slang. "I am. But I'll be leaving in about a half an hour," she said, still feeling bad for taking over his sanctuary.

"Take all the time you need," he said, pointing at her as he grabbed his phone and began dialing. By the time his call went through, he'd shut the door halfway and was pacing in the long hall that led out to the main living areas.

Rory went back to her studies, complacent to ignore the sound of his deep, somewhat booming voice as he spoke about things that didn't interest or concern her at all. Having wrapped up her biology for the day, she switched to Spanish and pulled out her stack of tenses to work through on self-fashioned flash cards. She said each one aloud quietly for her own pronunciation assessment, and then silently in her head as she worked her way from present to past perfect to future and beyond. She was lost in a sea of conjugated verbs until Richard said a name she recognized.

"Janlen, calm down!" Richard said from the other side of the door, having made another lap toward his den. "The boy is sixteen. It's different now than when we were that age. Society tells them that they have through college and beyond to figure out their life path, as opposed to when we went to study for our chosen path. And you, you were born knowing your lot in life. These kids have too many options; of course he's dragging his feet!"

Rory listened keenly, her flashcard forgotten still in her hand. He had to be speaking about Tristan, but the topic was news to her. It had been two weeks since their first date, and in all the time they'd spent together since—which was a considerable chunk of that span—not once had he mentioned the idea that he wasn't fully on board with his grandfather's plans for the future—for his future in France.

"Isabelle is capable of taking over a larger interest for the time being, isn't she? Well, from the sounds of it, that's more than satisfactory. From an actuarial perspective, that's far less risky," he explained. "Besides, paring back for a little while will save you costs that you needn't waste if there's going to be a big transition later. It will give the boy more time to take things over gradually. And if it's on his own time, it will be a smoother transition," Richard said sagely.

Rory pondered the whole 'on his own time' phrase. Her studies now completely an afterthought, she grew anxious for an explanation for what she was overhearing. Richard wandered further down the hall, and while she considered stepping to the door to eavesdrop more effectively, she thought better of it and instead stared blankly at her own script on the last index card she'd selected. Richard came back into the room a few minutes later, freshly off the phone, for another number from his book that he'd left on the edge of his desk.

"Sorry to keep cutting back in on you. How's the studying coming?"

Rory frowned. "Fine. Was that call about Tristan?"

Richard paused and assessed the concern her read on her face. "It was."

Her heart fluttered. "Is he… not going to France?"

Richard cleared his throat. "It's being discussed, the best option for his education and a number of other factors."

"I thought it had all been decided," Rory said slowly, not understanding how something that big could be on the table and he wouldn't have even mentioned a thing about it. They'd done nothing but discuss how short their time together would be cut, her heart breaking on occasion at the idea of continuing to get closer to him just in time to lose him for an unknown amount of time. She was under the impression they were getting more serious, or at least far more familiar with one another as each interlude they'd had was exceedingly intimate and habit-forming. That night, in fact, was to be spent at his grandparents' house, under the guise yet again of studying, but without the watchful eyes of her mother. She had no idea how closely he was monitored by his grandparents, but she had a hunch that they would be mostly left to their own devices.

"Nothing is truly ever decided until it's done. Janlen has to be prepared for things to take more time than he wishes. Sometimes a little extra time and care make all the difference," Richard explained.

Rory nodded and began to shove her study materials back in her bag. She'd planned ahead, stuffing a change of clothes into the already full bag that morning. Her intent had been to change at the Gilmore home, but she was suddenly in a hurry to get to her next destination. They'd agreed to meet a little later, but she wanted some answers from him straight away. "Thanks again for letting me use your study. I'll see you guys Friday," she said as she heaved the yellow bag onto her uniform-clad shoulders and made for the exit.

-X-

Her instruction had been to see herself to his room, a suggestion that had come with a description of how to get to that part of the house—though she wouldn't have been insulted if a rough sketch of map had been involved—from the maid that answered the door. Miraculously she found it without much trouble. She didn't pause once arriving at his door, which was shut. Her hand grasped the handle, her frustration having grown with every last step she'd taken from the front door to his, and she pushed it open.

She knew he'd had no notification of her earlier arrival, but even so did she expect the state she found him in. There was a shirt lying haphazardly over the side of the bed, and he stood in front of said bed, wearing jeans and nothing else. He turned toward her at the sudden intrusion. His brow furrowed slightly at the lack of proper knocking or greeting of any kind. Instead, she shut the door behind her and stepped into his room, staring at his half-naked form in an irritated fashion.

"What is the matter with you?" she asked, diving right into her own mental state.

"Hi," he said with great measure, trying to pull her back into niceties. He'd start with introductions and perhaps later he'd cover knocking and not slamming doors.

"Were you just not going to tell me?" she asked, ignoring his attempts at civility.

"I'm going to guess you're upset about something," he said, teasing her lightly, hoping to get to the point sooner than later. "And either I should know or start guessing."

"You're not going to France?" she asked in a demanding tone.

He crossed his arms over his chest. They'd been as intimate as two people could get without actually removing any clothing. Hands had skimmed under hems and brushed over fabric to more sensitive expanses of skin underneath, but this was the most of his body she'd ever seen. Given the hour, it was the best lighting she could hope for as well, as each muscle that graced his torso was faintly outlined with taut skin. His shoulders appeared broader, somehow, without a shirt or jacket covering them. His jeans rode just low enough on his frame to reveal the lines of his hips, which began to narrow in toward his midline, leading her eyes further down. She closed her eyes in frustration, in an attempt to have a rational thought that did not involve touching him.

"And you're anxious to get rid of me?" he asked, put out at her attack.

"I didn't say that! Can you… put a shirt on, please?" she pleaded.

He didn't reach for the shirt. He did, however, take a step in her direction. When she opened her eyes, she saw him standing close enough to touch, smiling in a self-satisfied manner down at her. "Is there something wrong?"

She glowered up at him. "Yes. I'm mad at you, and I want to yell at you, but you're standing there, looking like… that. I can't yell at you when you look like that. Put a shirt on," she instructed, feebly explaining her predicament.

"I'll pass. I've had enough yelling for the day. I'd rather see what happens with my shirt off."

She put a hand out to push him away. Her fingers molded against the firmness of his diaphragm, which distracted her efforts. "You… suck."

He smiled playfully. "You can do better than that."

"Are you or are you not going to France when school's out?" she asked, trying her best to ignore the heat of his body and the feel of it under her hand that she still hadn't removed.

He sighed and put his hands on her shoulders. "I'm not sure."

"Since when?" she asked, her tone no less challenging.

"I was never wholly excited about leaving so abruptly for the foreseeable future, but yesterday I told my grandfather that I wasn't sure that my immediate departure was the best thing for everyone involved."

She shook her head as she withdrew her hand at last, trying to shake off the weight of his hands on her shoulders. "You made it sound like a sealed fate, with no choice to be had."

He nodded. "I've never been given one before. I wasn't expecting anyone to take my opinion into account, actually. In that way, it's as much as surprise to me as it is to you."

"You didn't think that I'd be at all interested in the idea of you sticking around, or even just getting to come back in the fall? I mean, I'm your…," she faltered in her otherwise flawless stream of thoughts. "You're my…," she tried again, without finding a proper noun to label their relationship. "We're… something," she finished lamely.

He raised his eyebrows at her erratic attempt at verbalizing their connection. "Is this about me not wearing a shirt again?"

She fixed him with a look of sheer determination. "This might be easier if you put it on."

He shook his head teasingly. "I like seeing you flustered. It's fun."

"For you, maybe," she muttered under her breath. He was close enough to hear even her thoughts, so he offered a nod in response. Her eyes widened, taking a different tactic with him. "I thought we had these few weeks together or nothing. And we're not nothing."

He shook his head as he continued to look into her eyes. "We're something," he said, ribbing her slightly for her newfound loss of communication skills.

"Tristan," she warned with a sharp tone and narrowed blue eyes.

His lips brushed her cheek. "I didn't want to get your hopes up. That is, assuming that you want me to stick around," he said, assessing the state of her ire.

Her stunned stare gave him her answer. "Of course I want you to stay. But all you've ever said was that you were going. Do you think your grandfather really will let you stay?"

His breath hitched. "The thing is, he's going no matter what. My dad isn't really content with what Grandfather set up, so he's doing all he can to make things far more labor intensive than they have to be. Grandfather is looking to restructure and refocus on the root operations, which will essentially shut down everything here to cut Dad off at the source and force him to split ways. And if I don't go, I'm back to living with my parents."

She nodded, already having gathered that wasn't his best option. "Would that be an option you'd consider?"

His eyes held hers. "It's not ideal."

She bit her lip. It was in his best interest to go. It was what everyone knew—even his own father most likely was of that opinion. "Have you spoken to your parents?"

He nodded. "Dad's already laid out the conditions for me living at home. Grandfather is concerned that he'll talk me out of what is now rightfully my claim, when I decide to take it."

"Can't your aunt take over permanently? Why does it have to be you?" she asked. It didn't seem fair to lay the weight of the family business on his shoulders. He wasn't even legally old enough to make decisions for an operation of that scale.

"She's willing to act as a managing partner, but she never had aspirations to be at the helm of all this. She loves the land and the lifestyle, but not the business aspects. She wasn't so keen on my father taking over either, which is why she's agreed to step in for the gap between my grandfather and someone else."

"Do you want to do it?" she asked, not wanting to assume as to what was holding him back.

"I don't want to go now. Not when I have something worth staying for."

She smiled, her whole face lighting up in an exhibit of hope. "Something?"

"I'm buying you a better thesaurus," he said with a faint smile as he leaned down to kiss her. She melted into him for the first time, as opposed to trying to push him away.

The muscles of his arms were tensed as he held her against his frame, as if he were holding himself back even as he gave into the kiss. "Still want me to put my shirt on?" he asked softly in her ear.

"Maybe it's better if I get desensitized to it," she said suggestively, earning her the catch of his lips on hers again. Her fingers began a slow slide down the front of his torso, the pads of her fingertips trailing slowly over his skin. The quality of his kisses changed, and she realized he was slowly backing them up into the middle of the room. It wasn't until his legs hit the side of his bed that she broke apart from him.

He stared down at her with an intense, yet regretful expression. "Maybe I should put something on."

She took one last look at his exposed body. "If you think that's best," she said with mirroring regret.

He sat down alone and grabbed his shirt, bunching it up at the ends to slide over his head in one quick motion. "I suddenly feel very naked."

"It's probably the lack of clothes," she said, trying to make a joke to break the tension.

"It'd probably be less noticeable if I weren't the only one missing a shirt," he said in jest, but the topic of both of them getting undressed did nothing to reduce the pressure.

She shifted her weight and racked her brain for something less awkward to say. "I'm sorry I yelled."

He shrugged. "You were upset."

"Yeah, but," she said with a sigh. "It's not like we agreed to tell each other everything. I mean, you're allowed to have thoughts and conversations with other people without running them by me first."

"It's not unreasonable for you to expect me to keep you apprised of whether or not I'm moving out of the country," he said by way of compromise.

She nodded agreeably. "Fair enough."

He kept an eye on her, not quite sure how to proceed from that point. She shouldn't have even been there yet, and already they had resolved an argument and run out of easy conversation. Though nothing about what had just transpired could exactly be described as easy. "You can sit, if you want."

Her eyes fell to the bed, which made her hesitate. "Right. Sure. I can sit," she said, coaching herself more than anything. "So, what's your decision pending on?" she asked with as much restraint as she could muster.

He turned to her quickly, as if taken off guard by her very presence and not just her question. "What do you mean?"

She sat perched on the very edge of the bed, which she guessed to be at least a queen size. It was far more spacious than her tiny little twin. Her mind momentarily wandered to what might have transpired if they'd continued their kisses on it. "I mean, you said you weren't sure if you were ready to go yet. Does that mean you want to finish school here?"

She couldn't quite read his expression. "I guess. I mean, it would be nice to finish at Chilton."

"What about college?"

"I don't know. It's a little early to have made a decision about college," he said, brushing off the idea.

"No, it's not. It's only two years away," she corrected.

"Let me guess. You have the next two years all mapped out, with college as well," he said with a biting tone she hadn't anticipated.

"I want to go to Harvard, if that's what you mean. I've never made a secret of that," she said defensively.

He nodded, his expression hard. "And nothing's going to change your mind, is it?"

She stared at him in consternation. "Why would it?"

He threw up his hands and stood, beginning to pace in his room. "Because life happens. Not everything goes exactly as you thought it would. People change," he listed, growing more impatient as he went.

"What is the matter with you?" she demanded, not for the first time in the span of a half an hour.

He turned and gaped at her. "I'm trying to stay, for you," he said plainly.

"And that means I shouldn't go to Harvard?" she asked, not making the connection.

"I'm rethinking my entire future. You could at least take a moment to consider a few other schools," he suggested, still no less hassled by her lack of consideration.

"You didn't even tell me you were considering other options!" she exclaimed, standing now to face off with him. "Why should I be upending my plans when I didn't know your plans were changing?"

"Ever since that night, when we talked and I told you I'd been not thinking about anything but you—I realized that I had to try. I had to try to stay, to give this a shot," he explained.

Her whole body relaxed from its defiant stance. She felt like butter softening in his presence. She wondered if he realized how easily he could have such an effect on her moods. "Really?"

"I can't go through all this just to find out that you weren't willing to try, too," he said, his vulnerability showing through his confident exterior.

"So we're not living in the moment anymore?" she asked, feeling a shift in how they related to one another.

His lips curved up in a half smile. "I could take my shirt back off."

She laughed at his offer, grateful for the comic relief. As she quieted down, she stepped closer and reached out for his hand with hers. "I didn't expect you to change your plans for me."

He let out a breath and closed the space between them. "I know."

"If it's going to be awful, for you to be here with your parents," she led.

He shook his head and put a finger to her lips. "I can take it. It's just two years, right?"

"But just for me," she said again, in disbelief. "I mean, we're just—we've barely begun," she started again, proving that her lack of eloquence was not solely a reflection of his state of dress.

"Something," he said in all seriousness. "Besides, if we go up in flames, I can hop the next flight to France. How many other guys can offer you such a deal?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, that is the enticement of you," she offered sardonically.

He leaned down, teasing her lips with his. "Are you going to tell me why you really like me?" he asked.

It was her turn to shake her head coyly. "What would be the fun of that?" she asked just before she pushed up on her toes and kissed him first. They seemed to pick up where they'd left off the last time, the heat generated between them enough for him to wish he'd left the shirt off. She certainly wished she was in something a little less restrictive than her school uniform. This time when his body maneuvered toward the bed, they sat down together, still attached with hungry lips and roving hands. She shrugged off her jacket and tossed it to the floor. He kept his hands away from the removal process, not wanting to push too far. She lost her tie and in the process opened the top two buttons of her shirt for comfort. His eyes cut to her gathering pile of clothing on his floor. Instead of offering a loaded quip or asking for assurance, he guided her body, back down, to flat plane of the mattress. Her only response was to pull him just as far down over her as they continued to explore their newly minted something.


	13. Chapter 13

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

AN: A lot is going on in my RL, so things are a little slow on the writing front. Hopefully not for long, but we shall see. I'm just glad to have finally gotten the next chapter done.

There were take-out containers resting atop open textbooks, the likes of which were then surrounded by a sea of folders, notebooks, and stacks of loose leaf print outs. A half a dozen pens, markers, colored pencils and highlighters were scattered amongst the table-covering spread. Rory was spiraling a fork into a container of noodles absently as she scanned a pamphlet with eagle-eyed focus. Her mother sat in the next seat over, tapping her pencil against another container of food filled with chicken slathered in some sauce she couldn't identify on first taste. Lorelai's eyebrows were furrowed as she delved deeper and deeper into financial statements and projections she'd brought home from work.

"Didn't Max go to Oxford at some point?" Rory asked after a good ten-minute lull in conversation. Though she wasn't sure her mother's having groaned a string of obscenities and her own retort that her mother should say what she really felt went far in the way of actual conversation.

Lorelai's frown didn't ease as she continued to pour over her information. "What? I don't know."

Rory glanced up from her pamphlet. "You don't know where Max went to school?"

"I know he went. The specifics have never come up," she said distractedly.

"He's a professor. He talks about books and school, almost exclusively," Rory said. "And he loves England. I'm pretty sure he did his graduate work there."

"That doesn't sound wrong," Lorelai offered as she glanced up quickly. "You could always ask him for a copy of his transcripts next time he's over."

"I just thought it might be nice to pick his brain, see how he liked it."

Lorelai glanced up from her papers again, this time focusing on her daughter's comments completely. She dropped her fork with disgust into the container. "You haven't gotten to Harvard and you're already planning for a semester abroad?"

Rory shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe. It just seems like all my classmates are exploring their options for schools."

Lorelai leaned forward to see just what her daughter had been reading. "You suddenly want to go to Oxford?"

"Why not? It's a great school," Rory replied, feigning indifference.

"Rory, sweetie, I know it's considered good sense to have a back-up in place, in case Harvard is full when you apply or the apocalypse happens, but the rule is you're supposed to pick less prestigious schools. Perhaps one at which you can learn a trade."

"I'm looking at more than just two schools. I got a whole stack of these from the guidance office today," she said as she tapped her pile of full-color pamphlets.

Lorelai sat up straighter. "You did?"

Rory nodded. "Yep."

"I don't understand. What happened to Harvard?" Lorelai asked in a rushed manner.

"It's still there," Rory said idly.

"But you might not be?"

Rory put down her pamphlet. "How will I know it's the best place for me if I don't rule out all the other best schools?"

Lorelai nodded cautiously. "I can see that point, but do you really have to rule out all the schools in the world right now? That's a lot of schools to sift through during finals."

"I needed a distraction," she said, though it was more truthful that it had become a distraction, thanks to her boyfriend's future plans of relocating.

"The Sorbonne?" Lorelai yelped as she took a pamphlet out of Rory's stack. "France?"

"That's a no-brainer. They have the CESLA," Rory said as if it were a household acronym.

"But it's in Paris," Lorelai reiterated.

"You've always said it's a city I should see," Rory said encouragingly.

"Yes, for a few days, or a couple of weeks. You don't want to live in France. The people are rude and there's so much cheese," Lorelai explained.

"Cheese?" Rory asked, dumbfounded by her argument.

"I just don't understand why you'd suddenly decide that you had to explore every college that involves leaving the country," Lorelai said, cutting off suddenly at the end. "Oh, no. No, no, no."

Rory pulled back defensively. "What?"

"Rory, you're sixteen."

"Thank you for that update."

"You're both young. I know it sucks that he's going to France, and that there's nothing you can do. And I know you like him. But you cannot base your decision about not only where to go to college, but about moving to another country, on him!"

"That is not what this is. He might not even go."

Lorelai eyed her offspring skeptically. "And I hope he doesn't have to, if he doesn't want to. But he can't base his decisions on you, either."

"He's not," Rory said, not in a wholly affirming tone. She twisted her fork some more, without extracting any noodles.

"Is this all his idea, you looking at other schools?" her mother demanded.

"We discussed it, but I'm doing it because I want to," Rory said, making eye contact with her mother.

The news didn't sit well with her mother. "What else have the two of you been discussing?"

"Excuse me?" Rory asked, knowing full well that they were roughly one admission away from a heated argument. Lorelai never took unwelcomed news easily, at least not at first, and Rory had grown up learning to be just as defensive as her mother. After their last fight, Rory wasn't anxious for a repeat blowout, and she couldn't imagine Lorelai was primed to relive those times either.

"How close are the two of you getting? I mean, just from the fact that you're together as much as you can, I get that you like him."

"We're not together that much. And I do like him. A lot."

"Enough to go to the Sorbonne?" Lorelai asked.

"Enough to put it in as a consideration," Rory admitted. "It's not like these schools aren't just as good as Harvard. Better even, in some cases."

"Is it really better if its thousands of miles away from your entire family? I mean, it will be hard enough to come home for the occasional weekend while you're in Boston. But there's no popping home to do your laundry when you're in Europe!" Lorelai reasoned, grasping for arguments as Rory continued to not be easily swayed from the change of perspective in regard to her college plans.

"That's why I shouldn't consider other schools? Because of my laundry?"

Lorelai pursed her lips and reconsidered her tactics. "Look, maybe it's not a horrible idea to expand your search. But you're going to be hard-pressed to find a better match for you than Harvard."

"That may be true," Rory consented hesitantly.

"Besides, college isn't for two years. Do you really think that you and Tristan will still be together in two years, even if he stays around?"

"How can I know that?" Rory asked, not wanting to give her honest, gut reaction to that kind of question. Instead she picked up the pamphlet for another school and began running her eyes over another ivy-covered building shown prominently on the front.

"I just want you to have all your options open so you can make the right decision for you."

"How is looking at more schools going to prevent that?" Rory asked.

Lorelai eyed her daughter with a mix of sadness and hope. "It won't. I just don't want anything to get in the way of you achieving all the stuff you want to do. It's a long list, and life is full of potential road blocks."

"I realize that," Rory said, trying to sound amiable, but achieving slightly hostile instead.

"My fear is that your blinders might have slipped and you've let other things into your field of view."

"By other things, you mean Tristan," Rory amended.

"He's just a guy," Lorelai said, trying to impress upon her daughter the weight differential on the scales she should be using to judge the two areas of her life and their importance to her future.

It was convincing to Rory, but not in the way her mother had hoped. "He's not just any guy. He's important to me."

Lorelai fixed her with a knowing sense of dread. "How important?"

"We have been having the same conversation, haven't we?"

"I get that he has you rethinking your future and considering things you've never considered before. Does that include more than just colleges?" Lorelai asked, despite her deepest desires to lock her daughter in her room until she'd been accepted to Harvard and ready to head off for classes.

Rory flushed slightly at the implication. "We haven't … done anything that you're thinking."

Lorelai's eyes widened. "I swear, I could almost hear the word 'yet' lingering in the air after you finished speaking."

Rory looked down, her diverted gaze an answer for her mother. She heard Lorelai suck in a breath. "It's not something I'm going to rush into."

"Because he might be leaving?" Lorelai asked, nearly appearing a few years older than when they'd begun the conversation.

Rory chewed a small section of her bottom lip momentarily. "That's a considering factor."

There was a moment of stunned silence. "You've been thinking about this."

Rory gave a curt nod. "Yes."

"Does he know this?" Lorelai demanded.

Rory's head shot up in alarm. "No!"

"You have to talk to him about this, before it happens," Lorelai instructed.

"I know," Rory said defensively.

"Do you? It's not just some momentary decision that you should make on a whim. You need to be prepared, on a whole host of levels!" she urged.

Rory shrank back a little. Instead of continuing to grow defensive, she used the time to gain a little insight. "Were you?"

Her voice wasn't accusatory; instead it was small and curious. Lorelai considered her answer. "Yes and no."

Rory frowned at what seemed a purposefully vague answer. "Which is it?"

"I thought I was. Chris and… your dad and I, we knew each other so well. He wasn't just some cute guy I picked up at a party, you know. He was my best friend. I told him everything and we did everything together. I knew him better than he did. We'd known each other our whole lives. It felt… wrong that he not be that guy for me."

Rory took in her mother's explanation. "So you're glad that things happened how they happened?"

Lorelai smiled sadly. "I can't believe in regrets. I have never said that the timing was ideal, or that it was easy, but you know that I wouldn't change having you. That doesn't mean that I would ever wish for you to have my experience."

Rory hesitated. "I can't tell you nothing will happen."

Lorelai closed her eyes. "Okay."

Rory searched her mother's worried face. "Really, okay? Or please shut up now, okay?"

Lorelai opened her eyes. "No, I mean, really, for now, as long as you're talking to me and talking to him and making really smart, safe decisions; okay."

Rory nodded. "Okay, then."

Lorelai began to gather up her papers. "I should probably take all this up to bed. I might stay up late and I don't want to disturb your system. You are going to study more, aren't you? You have plenty of time to look at schools. Finals are next week," Lorelai reminded.

"I know. And I'm doing well on my finals prep. My paper's almost done for Max's class, and I'm not worried at all about Spanish or Trig."

"Great," Lorelai said as she stood up with her work clutched to her chest. "Well, goodnight."

Rory gave her mom a hesitant smile. "Goodnight."

She watched her mom turn at the end of the hall and head up the staircase to her bedroom. Rory picked up the pamphlet for the program at the Sorbonne and opened it with interest.

-X-

"I didn't say he had no class, I said I'd never seen anyone eat a whole meal without ever touching a single utensil at the club of all places," Richard said, directing his comment at his wife.

"How much class could he have, eating like an animal in front of people who pay very good money to enjoy their meals there? There's a four-star chef on staff, for goodness sake, I don't want to be turned off of my crème brulee because the man is deboning his fish across the room with squash smeared all over his hands. It's unsanitary!" Emily shuddered.

"At any rate, enough people complained about him that his membership has been put up for review. His wife is livid."

"She should be! She won't be eligible after the divorce if he's not a member before it's finalized. If he's reinstated in good standing, it'll just be him and his little mistress at the club. That's what we need more of, old men and their floozies lounging poolside, sipping those awful trendy cocktails."

"Watch out—Mom's on a floozy rampage!" Lorelai leaned in to Rory, who gave a strange smile.

"I'm not on a rampage. That man is crass and tasteless, and his manners and his choice in women are proof," Emily said with a raised eyebrow.

"If Emily decrees it so, who are we to challenge it? We know you are the end-all-be-all in the taste and class detail," Lorelai acknowledged.

"Is that a joke?" Emily asked haughtily.

"I think Mom meant that as a compliment," Rory offered politely.

"Hey, I work alone," Lorelai leaned in with a stage whisper.

"It's just a shame that we're losing quality members, and potentially keeping and gaining such trash. Maybe we should think about changing our affiliation," Emily said sadly to Richard.

"Is that like changing churches?" Rory asked.

"I will not pay more for the same amenities," Richard said with finality. "We rarely even go to the club. And you don't care for their crème brulee, regardless of what that man does to a fish with his hands."

Lorelai sat agape at her parents. "Why do I never bring a tape recorder to these things? I want that on my Christmas cards. Can you say that again, Dad, but slower so I can jot it down?"

The doorbell rang as Lorelai was rustling around in her clutch for a writing utensil.

"That must be my tape recorder!" she exclaimed. "I love it when the universe delivers."

The maid came through, and gave a quick curtsy to Emily before announcing the guests. "The Dugreys are here, ma'am."

"Did she just curtsy?" Lorelai asked in surprise and delight as the new maid scurried off.

"The Dugreys?" Rory asked, straightening up and turning around on her seat in the parlor.

"Yes, I invited them. I thought it would be nice to see them before they left for France," Emily said brightly as she stood to receive their guests. Richard stepped to man the bar at the edge of the room.

Lorelai leaned in to her startled daughter. "Is Tristan going?"

Rory shrugged. "They're still talking. I don't know if he knows yet."

"Well, then this should be fun," Lorelai said sardonically as the girls stood to greet the guests. Emily smiled and fawned over Tristan's grandmother as they joined the party. Richard busied himself making drinks that he knew from past experience. Tristan came in after his grandparents, with his hands shoved in his pockets and instantly caught Rory's eye. He offered a smile of apology, silently assuring her he'd been none the wiser of their dinner plans until it was too late.

"And here's Tristan! I must say, we've been hearing quite a lot about you lately," Emily said appreciatively.

Tristan eyed his grandfather. "Some of it good, I hope."

Janlan took his drink from Richard and shook his head at his grandson.

"All of it, of course," Emily said graciously before turning to Tristan's grandmother. "Grace, it must be such a hassle getting everything ready for such a move."

Once the older women sat down and engaged in conversation over the particulars of packing up one's entire life, Tristan stepped in close to Rory. "Hey."

She lifted her eyes up to him, feeling a rush of emotion well up in her chest at his sudden and unexpected arrival. "Hi."

"We still on for later?" he asked under his breath.

"Of course. Has anything been decided?" she asked in earnest.

He cleared his throat a little. "Not entirely, but I am sure that the point of this evening was to make it clear that I'm running out of time to figure it all out."

She put a hand on his arm. "I didn't mean to push," she assured him.

He put his hand on hers. It was warm and comforting. "I know."

"Hey, look, Dad, Tristan needs a drink," Lorelai interjected, arching her brow at the intimate way her daughter was engaged with the newcomer.

"Indeed he does. What can I get you, son?" Richard asked.

"Club soda would be great, thank you," Tristan answered immediately, with a proper undertone of decorum as he and Rory let go of one another.

"Are you prepared for final exams? I know Rory's been doing nothing but studying," Richard said with great pride in his granddaughter.

"She's managed to make time for certain extracurricular activities," Lorelai said with a sharp edge to her voice that didn't go unnoticed by either teen.

"Do you belong to many clubs or teams?" Grace Dugrey asked with interest.

"Not as such, though I do plan on working on the school paper next year," Rory piped up, shooting her mother an accusatory glance.

"You have an interest in journalism?" Janlan asked.

"It's more of an obsession," Lorelai answered quickly.

"Thanks for that," Rory muttered.

"It's true," Lorelai said innocently.

"I'm not obsessed. I've just never wanted to be anything else," Rory admitted humbly.

"And you will make a fine journalist. The best to ever come out of Harvard, to be sure," Richard said with a sniff.

"Harvard? You're allowing one of your own to go to Harvard?" Janlan asked Richard.

"Well, I've been told that it's as fine a school as Yale, but I'm not quick to agree. Though I've never had much luck getting any of these Gilmore women to see things my way, either," he said lovingly.

"Yale was in your stack of pamphlets, wasn't it?" Lorelai asked.

"You're looking at Yale?" Richard asked, pleased beyond words.

"You were always set on Harvard," Emily said, stunned.

Rory could feel everyone's gaze on her, but specifically she felt ready to melt under Tristan's watch. She glanced his way, for just a moment, before turning back to the adults. "It seemed short sighted not to explore my options before the time comes to make a final decision."

"Yale has an excellent program," Richard said instantly. "I'd be glad to show you around and introduce you to the Dean, any time you wish."

"That's quite an offer, thank you, Grandpa," Rory said as she shifted, careful not to scoot too far against Tristan.

"It's not likely we know anyone at any of the other schools you were looking at. Unless you've got a pen pal at the Sorbonne I don't know about," Lorelai quipped.

"The Sorbonne?" Emily asked, immediately involved. "My sister has plenty of friends on the board there. Is that one of your top choices?"

"I haven't really narrowed down my short list yet. I'm looking a wide variety of places," Rory began, desperately trying to ignore Tristan next to her.

"Too few Americans look outside the country for higher education. There are fine institutions all over the world that have so much more to offer, but it seems such an American opinion that we have the finest of everything," Janlan said dismissively.

"Present company excluded," Richard joked.

The maid came in, offering another awkward curtsy that seemed to irritate Emily to no end and announced that dinner was ready to be served. Rory leaned in to her mother as they gathered their drinks for the trip to the table. "Did you really have to bring that up?"

"I thought it wasn't a big deal," Lorelai said. "And I don't find wine talk as fascinating as the next gal."

Rory watched as Lorelai made her way into the dining room. One person hadn't moved, and she turned to face him. "I hate these things."

"I do often find them informative," he said simply.

"I was going to tell you."

"I'm glad."

"You are?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes, even though clearly I'm public enemy number one as far as your mother is concerned. If looks could kill, I'd be buried in the backyard."

"Oh," Rory said, burning a flush pink at the mention. "She'll calm down."

"You sure about that?" he asked.

"She's not mad about the schools. She's not thrilled, but that's not why she's plotting your demise," Rory confided.

"But she is plotting my demise?" he clarified.

"We talked about you and me. And how together you and I are," she said vaguely, but her blue eyes hinted at her meaning well enough for him to catch on.

"Oh. Really?" he asked with an eager interest.

"In a purely hypothetical manner," she assured him.

"And here I thought you were discussing the best way to send me off to France," he teased.

Her eyes widened. "I thought you hadn't decided," she said in panic.

His hand slipped into hers. "Relax. Chances are I'll go for a few weeks and come back. We're still talking logistics."

She nodded as she released a shudder-like breath. "Okay. A few weeks," she repeated.

"Just how hypothetical was this discussion?" he prompted again, leaning in close enough for a kiss.

It wasn't that she didn't consider the opportunity for even a brief kiss, but with five adults in their line of sight she clamped down the urge. Instead she silently pleaded with him in their close proximity. "Can we talk about this later?"

"Yes, please," he said, as the air between them grew so charged that she could nearly feel his lips on hers. She gave a light shudder and stepped back.

"We should sit down."

"Your mom wouldn't hate me if it were completely hypothetical," he said with a knowing smirk.

"Go! Sit!" she ordered with as much sternness as she could muster.

"Is it safe for me to sit near your mother with sharp implements handy?" he asked, still enjoying their back and forth on the matter.

"I wouldn't sit between us, I'll tell you that much," she warned, not appreciating the sheer glee he managed to gleam from their conversation. If nothing else, the fact that he was about to leave the country for a few weeks should have kept his raging ego in check. Instead he offered her a wink before turning and walking into the dining room. It was going to be a long evening.

-X-

"I love it when you dress up for these dinners," he said as he eased two fingers under the shoulder strap of her dress, caressing her skin underneath it in the process.

"I would imagine anything is an improvement over the Chilton uniform," she mused as she relaxed under his touch and eased back further into the grass beneath them.

"I will always have a soft spot in my heart for those uniforms. And if the hemlines are ever raised, even a half an inch, at least one of my dreams will have come true," he said before his lips grazed her neck.

She put her hand on his chest to still him. "What is it with you tonight?"

"We're alone. We have more than fifteen minutes before you have to be home, and we survived a dinner with both our families at one table."

"I'm glad that part of the evening is over, too, but don't you think we should, you know, talk?"

He leaned back on his elbows next to her. His eyes skimmed over her with a languid appreciation. "Hypothetically?"

She cleared her throat lightly, doing her best to appear calm. "Yeah."

He sat up straight at her agreement. "Really?"

She sat up next to him and scowled. "Stop saying it like that."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like I'm about to give you the best birthday present ever."

"My birthday isn't until winter," he clued her in. "Unless that's your way of saying you want to wait."

"If we can't discuss this, then it's never going to happen," she warned, pulling from her mother's wisdom.

He did his best to wipe his face of any emotion other than sincerity. "Sorry. Let's talk."

She nodded in agreement. "Okay. So, you go first."

He let out a bark of laughter until her scowl returned. "I'm sorry, are you serious?"

She shook her head at him and shifted in the meadow next to the old bridge. The wooden structure was a rather rickety affair that the town elders were always trying to raise funds to fix, but it was in bad enough shape that few people took that route by the lake. It seemed the best option to go to so as to not be confined to his car, and still make it quickly back to her house after their date concluded but before her mother sent out a search party. "Of course I'm serious. This concerns both of us."

"Yeah, but, I mean, it's mostly your decision," he said wholly without irony.

She was bewildered. "That makes no sense whatsoever," she uttered.

"Based on what?" he asked, equally puzzled.

"If you don't want to, it's all a moot point," she began.

"What about my actions have ever implied that I don't want to?" he demanded.

She blushed as she recounted a great number of times that she'd felt physical evidence while his form was pressed into hers that supported his claim. "I assumed you do, but that doesn't mean that you're anxious to have something happen just before you leave. I mean, you say you're coming back, but what if you get there and something happens to change your mind?" she asked.

"I'm coming back," he said firmly.

"But what if," she began, her voice urgent.

"I'm coming back," he said again with equal conviction.

"Okay, so you're coming back. But I keep thinking that if something happens before you go, then it'll be something I'll obsess about while you're gone. And if nothing happens before you go, it's something I'll obsess about while you're gone," she admitted sheepishly, finally meeting his eyes.

"So, either way, you'll be picturing me naked?" he mused happily.

"This isn't a joke!" she admonished.

"I know that. But you do get that this is largely your decision, don't you? Because I've been thinking about you naked for a long time, especially since we got together. My thoughts being preoccupied with you for a few weeks in France are guaranteed."

She stared at him oddly. "I'm not sure how you made that sound sweet, but you pulled it off."

He offered a small smile. "Do you believe that I'm not what we're waiting on?"

She heard her response in her head before she said it, and it surprised her more than she anticipated. "It's not that I want to wait."

She hadn't quite predicted his reaction, either. She might have guessed he'd have some kind of almost nefarious retort, citing how quickly they could resolve the matter, the likes of which would normally earn him a slap somewhere on his person. Instead of that, he simply stared at her in newfound awe. "You don't?"

She wanted to explain her thinking to him—it seemed she owed him clarity on the matter. "I'm not waiting for a magic age or milestone or anything like that. Everybody always says that you just know when it's right. That's all I'm really waiting for."

He nodded at her words. "Fair enough."

"How did you know?"

He appeared stricken at her inquiry. "What?"

"The first time. I mean, I assume you've already," she led, bravely holding his gaze.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," he offered, not wholly proud of his past decisions.

She wrinkled her nose. "Maybe this was a bad idea," she hedged.

"It was completely different, the situations, in the past…," he began with a frustrated groan. "With the other girls, it was, I don't know, expected is the best word for it. I've never had the kind of relationship where there was more than the physical stuff."

"How romantic," she deadpanned, growing far more concerned at the notions he held on the matter. She'd daydreamed of a far more organic kind of act, where some kind of undeniable force ushered in the point of no return. The idea that one would be having sex to assuage boredom was depressing.

"I didn't come into this with any expectations like that of you," he said, trying and failing to reassure her.

She crossed her arms over her light spring dress. "Why not?"

"Because I knew if you ever paid any attention to me, it wouldn't be for my car or my last name, or my body," he explained.

"I like your body," she admitted with a hint of a smile. She knew that the conversation was charged enough without constantly grilling him and challenging his intentions. Some tension release was required.

"Yeah?"

He smiled as relief and curiosity filled him. He leaned in, and she eagerly met him halfway in a kiss. It was mostly the reason they'd sought out a secluded area, after all. She had known he wouldn't let that drop without a further mention after she'd alluded to it at her grandparents' house. Nor would one conversation about sex be enough for her to feel ready. But progress was still progress and ought to be rewarded on both their parts. She began to ease back down in the grass, her head resting on the soft ground as he rolled up over her. It only took a few minutes, pressed together in the semi-darkness of moonlight for their conversation to replay in her head.

"Do you have those expectations now?" she asked, barely above a whisper at his ear.

His breathing came harder against her cheek as he paused. "It's not an expectation so much as an overwhelming desire," he amended.

Her fingers traced the edge of his jaw. "I hate that you're leaving so soon."

"It won't make things easier," he said, searching her eyes as if he could read her thoughts somehow.

She nodded. "I know. I'm just not ready for you to go. We have finals all week, so we have tomorrow and next Friday night and then I won't see you for how long?"

He kissed her again, and she pulled him down as tightly against her as she could manage. She was hoping for some sort of fusion that would allow her to not miss him as much as she knew she would. Her thoughts got tangled up in her hopes just as her hair was tangled in the long grass under her head. "I wish I could come with you."

The words came out as an ethereal whisper, the kind of revelation that would have never occurred to either of them in their normal, rational minds. It wasn't until she literally wrapped herself up with him that such notions of traveling halfway around the world for someone she didn't want to miss seemed like the only plausible course of action.

He kissed her once more, drinking in the sentiment that seemed to hang in the late spring air. She arched up into him, wishing the moment could defy laws of time and space. Inevitably, they would need air other than each other's and she would need to get home, then the sun would come up, giving them one less day before he left for another country. It didn't matter that he would come back or that she'd have classes to keep her busy in the meantime. She wanted more time with him and more of him. She wanted to just be sixteen and not have the weight of their futures hanging over their heads.

"Say it again," he said once he pulled back enough to focus on her face.

"That I wish I could come with you?" she asked. It had been an audible, wistful request, something that she normally would have kept to herself. She hadn't meant to even say it, but every time she got caught up in the whirlwind of emotion that was the result of being near him, her filters failed and her mind got ahead of her mouth. But nevertheless, it seemed her words had tapped some unexplored possibility to him.

"Come with me."


	14. Chapter 14

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

Breath had emptied from her lungs, but she wasn't sure if it had been the passionate kissing that they'd been engaged in or the magnanimous offer he'd just uttered. Either way, the weight of his body pressing into hers didn't help.

"I can't."

His eyes were still lit with possibility, even at her immediate refusal. "Why not?"

A flutter of nervous laughter escaped her throat at his questioning. "I have school for one."

"You're not required to take summer school. Skip the first session and we'll be back before second session starts."

"School isn't the only issue," she said, as if he should have known her multitude of reasons without her explaining them.

"Fine, what else?" he asked, ready to combat her reservations.

"Well, I've never priced a plane ticket to France, but I'm guessing it's more than the contents of my wallet."

"Money isn't an issue," he assured her smoothly.

"Maybe for you," she argued instantly, "but even then, I can't let you buy me a ticket."

"Why not? You want to come with me and I want you to come with me. Why couldn't you let me buy you a ticket?" he asked reasonably, though his voice was tinged with the exhaustion that came along with having had similar arguments in the past.

"Because, I'd owe you," she began, still feeling like she needed a big gulp of air.

"Owe me what? I don't need you to pay me back," he pressed.

"You know what I mean," she led, wishing she'd never said a thing to begin with. She never imagined he'd latch onto the idea. The fact that he had to go was one thing, something that she had no control over. Getting him to believe that her inability to go with him was something she had no control over was a whole other prospect.

"I don't think I do. Is this about sex again?"

"No! It's about… the fact that even if you did buy my plane ticket, there is no way on earth that my mother will agree to this."

"What if I talked to her?" he offered genially.

She let out a snort. "Especially if you talked to her."

"Because she hates that I'm the reason you're thinking about sex," he said in an accusatory manner. He sat up, giving her all the breathing space she could need.

She scrambled to sit up as well. "I tell my mother everything," she defended her actions.

"You didn't tell her about Dean," he said, bringing up a topic that hadn't quite fully healed. She hadn't focused on the issue of late, what with finals approaching and the fact that her current boyfriend was about to flee the country, but it stung enough when he poked at it.

"That was completely different," she cried out. "This has nothing to do with him."

"Then let me talk to Lorelai."

"So you can tell her what? You can't live without me?" she asked with full-on dramatic flair.

He seethed at her flippant attitude. "I haven't had time to come up with a game plan. I was leaning toward the truth."

"You can't go up against Lorelai Gilmore without a game plan, she'll eat you alive. And if you think the way she looks at you now is chilly, you'll have to start wearing a parka to pick me up."

"I thought you were on my side here. Didn't you just say you wished you could come?"

She tossed up her hands. "I did, but it wasn't a serious request. It was wishful thinking—completely hypothetical."

He really didn't like that comparison. "So, that means you don't want to have sex either?" he said, touching back to the issue again.

"Not at the current moment, I don't. Is that why you want me to come to France, to have sex?"

"Because you'd owe me something, right?" he snapped at her constantly turning his words into a tangled mess.

"What is the matter with you? I don't immediately jump on board and you insist on making it into a big fight? I don't have to go, and you do."

"I'm aware. But why would you say it if you didn't mean it?"

Rory suppressed a groan. "I was caught up in the moment, it wasn't a commitment I was making."

He shook his head and sighed heavily. "This is unbelievable."

"You're reading way too much into this."

"Am I? I'm serious about the stuff we talk about. It's not just some big hypothetical situation that I don't plan to act on."

She gripped the grass between her fingers, feeling like she might fall off the earth otherwise. "Is this about sex?"

"I'm not saying that once you talk about it, then it has to happen, but you can't just tell me you want to and then declare that it's never going to happen," he informed her.

She crossed her arms. "It's a really big deal!"

"I agree. So is going to France. And you talked to your mother about one, why not the other? You aren't even going to try?"

She let out a heavy breath of concession. "Fine. I'll try."

"And you'll let me talk to her?" he asked.

"Why do you want to talk to her?" she asked, completely bewildered by his fixation.

He fixed her with a heated gaze. "You're going to tell her everything anyway, and it affects the both of us. We should both talk to her. My being honest with her might ease her mind or maybe make her hate me a little less."

"I don't need her to like you."

"Even so," he said, his tone calmer as hers had scaled down as well.

She bit her lip and considered him. "Do you have to go?"

He nodded. "I do. I wouldn't go if I didn't have to. I'll come back, but I have to go and be a part of what my grandfather is doing right now."

She swallowed. "Am I the only reason you're coming back?"

"You're a good incentive for coming back," he yielded, choosing his phrasing carefully.

She put her hand over her chest. The feeling of constriction in her chest was overwhelming. Everything felt so weighted and definitive. "It's getting late. If you want a chance to talk to Lorelai ever again, I should get home."

He was still looking at her with concern, but for once he didn't argue. "I'll walk you home."

"What about your car?" she asked, as he'd parked it not far from their current location.

"I could use the fresh air. Come on," he said as he stood up and offered her his hand to use as leverage off the ground. She put her hand in his and they pulled against one another as she stood to her feet. Once she was upright, he didn't release her hand until they'd reached their destination.

-X-

Rory opened her bedroom door the next morning and ambled out toward the cabinet that held various types of sugary cereals and at least one box of Pop Tarts at any given time. Finding the box of pastries as she let a large yawn escape, she slipped her hand into the depths and pulled out a silver wrapper. The foil ripped easily, but she was disappointed upon revealing the contents. She grabbed the box and verified the picture on the box.

"Good morning, Morning Glory," Lorelai said brightly as she swept into the kitchen, fully dressed at the unusually early hour of eight on a Sunday morning.

"You bought unfrosted blueberry Pop Tarts."

Lorelai cringed guiltily at the coffee pot. "They were in the wrong place on the shelf at the market. I grabbed two boxes of what I thought were frosted strawberry. The loser box was stashed behind the right box. I tried to take them back when I discovered the error, but Taylor said that without a receipt and with an open package, he couldn't even make an exchange of goods. Nor did he appreciate my jokes about the open package."

"Why didn't you just buy more while you were there?"

"He sort of made me leave, after I yelled at him for purposefully stocking items incorrectly to try to sell excesses in stock that he couldn't unload honestly."

"You got thrown out of Doose's? When was this?"

Lorelai gave her a knowing look. "You were at Grandma's. It's possible I wasn't exactly entering the situation with the best attitude."

"Oh," Rory said as she put the less desirable breakfast food into the toaster. "So, what's got you up and ready so early?"

Lorelai smiled. "Max is coming to get me, and we're going to have breakfast and go antique shopping. His mom's birthday is soon, and he mentioned she likes antiques, so I graciously offered to show him my favorite antiquing spots."

"And he got you up this early how?"

Lorelai glared at her playfully. "You know me so well. He promised to buy me lots of coffee plus he has some teacher appreciation luncheon at the Headmaster's house and then preparation for finals week, so this was the only time today he was free."

"You must really want to see him to get up so early on your day off," Rory said with a yawn as she waited for her breakfast to heat up.

"He's growing on me. And it's surprisingly harder for two professional adults to see one another than you'd think. Youth is truly wasted on the young," Lorelai mused. "Speaking of which, what time's Tristan coming over to 'study' with you?" she asked, using air quotes.

Rory turned to grab a plate when her food popped up. "He isn't."

Lorelai leaned in keenly. "Why not?"

Rory turned back and picked up the plain pastry with a curious examination. "Finals start tomorrow. I'm too busy to see him today."

Lorelai put down her mug as she eyed her daughter with concern. "Did you guys have a fight?"

Rory glanced up after dropping the hot breakfast item onto the plate. "No."

"Because you didn't talk to him at all yesterday that I know of. That hasn't happened since you got back from Grandma and Grandpa's that I know of."

"I was studying. He's studying and getting ready to leave for the summer. Even us youths are busy."

"You've been acting all weird since he dropped you off Friday night. Are you sure something didn't happen?" Lorelai asked, growing anxious after all the talk about Rory and Tristan's relationship.

Rory put down her plate without taking a bite. "I'm sure."

"Because you're usually moody during finals, but this seems more than just study-induced hermit behavior."

"I'm not a hermit. And I'm not moody," Rory groused, proving her mother's point.

Lorelai bit her lip to prevent herself from further provoking her daughter. "Do you want to come have breakfast with me and Max?"

Rory shook her head and picked her plate back up to transport it to the table. "No. I'll just eat these and take a shower. I have a lot more studying to do."

"And schools to look at?" Lorelai asked, trying to sound innocent in her concern.

"I'll have all summer to do more research on schools. I only have today before finals," Rory said succinctly.

"Listen, honey, I realize I haven't been the biggest fan of Tristan so far," Lorelai began diplomatically.

Rory stared at her mother, making it clear she'd just spoken the biggest understatement of the year. Lorelai rolled her eyes and continued. "But you can talk to me about stuff, if you need to work through it. I might be able to help, but only if you tell me what the problem is."

Rory shook her head. "There's nothing to work out. He's leaving and I'm staying and he'll probably come back. We'll see what happens then. There's nothing else to say about any of it."

Lorelai frowned. "It sounds like you have a lot more to say about it."

"Well, I don't. Go enjoy your breakfast and your antiques. I'm fine."

"You don't seem fine."

Rory stood up from the table, heading toward her room without eating. "I'm fine. I'm going to take a shower."

There was a knock at the door, and Lorelai glanced quickly toward the hall. "That's probably Max."

Rory offered a tight smile. "Go have breakfast."

With that, she went into her room to change into her robe, leaving her mother to answer the door and leave for her morning date. Her room was set up for a day of studying—her desk organized by subject that needed the most attention due to sheer proximity to exam dates. She'd tried her best the day before to make a good headway in her progress, but her heart hadn't been in it. Most of the day she'd been lost in thought over the turn her last conversation with Tristan had taken. He'd been so quiet on the way to her house, and once they'd reached her front porch, he left her after bending down to quickly brush his lips across hers in the briefest of goodnight kisses. If his intention had been to leave her wanting more, it had been a rousing success.

Once wrapped in her robe, she opened her door expecting to find an empty house, only to see her boyfriend seated at her kitchen table with her mother. She stood still in a hazy shock, unsure as to just what misunderstanding had brought the scene about.

"It wasn't Max," Lorelai supplied.

"What are you doing here?" Rory asked, focusing her attention to Tristan.

"I'm talking to your mom," he said slowly, as if she were too confused to decode the scene in front of her.

"I need to talk to you," she said suddenly.

"Then why didn't you call me?" he asked pointedly.

"I need to talk to you, now," she said, gesturing to her room.

"How about I go in the front room, so you two can talk out in the open, instead of in your bedroom?" Lorelai said, making her preferences as to their level of privacy clear. "If you need me, I'll be waiting on Max and gathering material for my TV evangelist bit."

Rory crossed her arms as she and Tristan faced off across the kitchen table. "So, talk," he said once they were alone.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"You said you'd talk to her. But the more I thought about it yesterday, I figured you probably wouldn't. So I decided that I didn't need your permission to talk to your mother."

Her mouth dropped open. "Are you insane?"

"We don't have time to put this off. Finals are here, and then I leave."

"I understand that," she said through gritted teeth.

"So let me be the bad guy. If she really hates me, what's a little more?" he asked selflessly.

"I'm not trying to protect you," she explained.

"Then why can't I talk to her about this?"

"Tristan," she groaned.

"Rory," he mocked her.

"We talked about this," she said, trying to backtrack.

"I remember."

"I don't remember us agreeing for you to talk to my mother about this."

"We haven't agreed on anything, lately," he said, his voice darker.

"This doesn't have to be an argument," she dismissed.

"It does. You said yourself, that you tell her everything. If you won't talk to her about this, there must be a reason."

"Because she has the power to say no, and that's what she'll say. I know her, I don't have to ask."

"You talked to her about the possibility of having sex," he said, just above a whisper in case the owner of the house took liberties in listening to the goings on within it.

"Because that's my decision, not hers," she said assuredly.

He frowned. "So if she thought it was a bad idea and you still wanted to, you would?" he asked, confused.

"It's my life. I can make my own decisions," she informed him, not losing any ground.

"So decide. If you want to go, let me talk to her. I can tell her about the property and the business and what you'd get to see," he explained. "If you talk to her, it's just you asking her to let you fly halfway around the world to an unknown reality with your boyfriend."

She bit her lip as she considered his offer. "She's going to breakfast with Max soon."

"She has to come home sometime," he countered.

"Max has lunch plans. I guess you could come back then," she relented.

He wasn't quick to believe her. "Really?"

"Really." Her voice was firm, but she still wasn't wholly prepared for the conversation.

"So, you're agreeing to give this a shot?"

She let out a sigh. "I still think she'll say no, but at least she'll have a fully formed negative response."

He smiled. "I can be very convincing with the ladies."

She held out a hand to stop him in his egomaniacal tracks. "Just be yourself. She hates being pandered to. And she already thinks we've been arguing."

"We have been arguing," he said as he stood up from the table and stepped toward her. "We're good at it," he said with a smile.

"I hate arguing," she countered with a slight pout.

"I don't believe that for a second. I know for a fact that you enjoy every minute of it," he drawled out the last few words, in a way that would make any woman want to enjoy anything he did.

"Who enjoys arguing?" she said with a shake of her head, despite her weakening resolve.

"Arguing is fun. It gets people all riled up. Pent-up emotions come pouring out and it makes people way less inhibited," he said, his voice as smooth as honey as they found themselves standing very close together. She swallowed as she listened to him speak.

"I guess that makes sense," she managed, her eyes wide as she focused on his nearness.

"I'd be happy to show you what I mean," he offered.

"I, uh," she said as she found herself fixating her attention mainly on his lips. His hands slid easily over her hips and she shuffled in toward him. "Maybe, um, later," she said in her wholly distracted state.

He smiled. "I'm coming back."

She took in a deep inhale for courage. "I know."

"This isn't hypothetical," he murmured low into her ear. She turned to catch his eye, startled at the strength of the pull of her whole body to his.

A slow smile spread across her lips. Her eyes fluttered as she offered the briefest nod. "I know."

There wasn't much in the way of space between them, but the tension was at an all-time high. They were a mere fraction of a second away from a kiss that would have gotten increasingly intense at an alarming speed, as an outside element killed the moment.

The sudden addition of their teacher walking into her kitchen was enough for them to stop gazing into each other's eyes and back far enough away that touching was impossible. She crossed her arms over her robe-clad chest, still able to feel her heart hammering against her ribs from Tristan's revving words.

Max eyed each teen separately, painfully aware of the kind of interruption he was providing—necessary in his eyes, though wholly uncomfortable in practice. "Lorelai, your mom, she said there was coffee left."

Rory nodded to the appliance. "Sure is."

Max cleared his throat. "I should probably wait until we get to the diner. Your mom's been raving about the coffee there."

"It is the best in the tri-county region. We've done extensive research into the matter," Rory said offhandedly, earning her the same odd expression from both males in the room. She felt the need to extract herself from the situation. "I'm just going to go shower. I need to get ready to study. Excuse me."

She stepped past both of them and secluded herself into the downstairs bathroom. She instantly started the shower, turning the temperature to the hot side of warm, before turning to stare at herself in the mirror. Her face was much the same as it always was—her eyes the same shade of blue, the same freckles across the bridge of her nose that stood out from spending more time outside in the sun of late. She also noticed that the hollow of her collarbone was stained a blotchy pink, a visible flush from the gale of emotion she'd just experienced with Tristan. Her pupils were dilated and she could feel the remnant vibration of the nervous energy that had flooded her system in the kitchen. A quick knock to the door nearly made her jump out of her skin. She pulled her robe back up securely over her shoulders and turned to crack the door open.

Lorelai offered her a tight smile. "Hey. Sorry about Max. We're leaving, so I'll see you for lunch, okay?"

Rory nodded, feeling a little strung out on what had been interrupted between her and Tristan. "Okay."

"You're sure everything's okay?"

Rory nodded again, pressing her lips together. "I'm positive."

Lorelai eyed her curiously, but didn't force the issue. "Good. Enjoy your quiet study time."

Rory nodded again and closed the door. She turned back to the mirror and wiped away the trace amounts of steam that had built up, taking only a quick glance at her reflection again before discarding her robe and stepping into the hot spray of water. The pressure of the water felt restorative against her muscles that had tensed up and found no other release. She took her time, now that she was alone in the house, not worrying about having to get ready and go anywhere or the need to save the hot water for another person. She kept her eyes squeezed shut as she let the water wash over her face one last time after she rinsed her hair out. For a few hours, she wouldn't have to think about her increasingly complicated romance, the tricky balance she and her mother had stricken, or anything other than the comfort of her studies.

She left her robe hanging on the back of the door as she emerged from the bathroom wrapped instead in a big body towel. Her hair had been toweled off to the point of extreme dampness, hanging in straight, combed lines down her shoulders. She was lost in her own thoughts as she padded in bare feet down the hall from the bathroom to her bedroom, entering her small room without hesitation. It took her longer than it should have to realize someone was seated on her bed, waiting for her.

Her hand flew to her chest as she stopped and swore briefly. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled, pleased at pulling off a surprise. "And pass up a naked girlfriend in an empty house?" he asked.

Panic filled her at the implication of their being in the house alone when her mother was distinctly under the impression he'd left and she was not nearly naked in her room with her boyfriend. "I thought you left."

"I did."

"Did my mother forget to lock the door?" she asked pointedly.

"No, I used the key."

"What key?" she posed.

"The one in the turtle."

"That key is for emergencies, not for boyfriends to gain access without our knowledge."

"You make it sound like I broke in and watched you through a peephole in the shower," he said, growing defensive again.

"Hey, stop right there," she said, holding up a hand to him.

"Stop what?"

"Trying to draw me into an argument," she said knowingly.

"I'm not trying, I'm defending myself," he countered.

"You're doing it again. I'm not arguing with you," she said, trying to convince the both of them.

"What are you doing?" he inquired.

"I'm going to see you to the front door."

His eyes twinkled. "Before or after you get dressed?"

"You can't be here," she said finally.

"Because you're naked or because you have to study?"

"Both," she said instantly.

"I could help you with both situations."

"Neither of them constitutes a situation."

"Then why can't I stay?" he asked, still rather amused at her discomfort.

"Because you are a liability to both of the activities I need to accomplish."

"I'm a liability?"

"Yes."

"To your ability to clothe yourself?" he clarified.

"Is this funny to you? If my mother came back and found us in my room like this, you could forget her being nice when she tells you I can't go to France. She'll take to sharpening knives whenever you're around."

"Did I ever tell you about the big outbuilding, on my grandfather's property in Provence?" he began, ignoring her prior comment. "It's this enormous barn, but it used to double as worker's quarters, too. There's a loft, over the equipment storage, and it overlooks the whole vineyard."

"Sounds great. Is there a reason you're telling me about it now?"

"I'm getting there. I'd say keep your pants on, but," he said with a wink, to which she scowled. He wasn't put off. "So anyway, no one ever really goes up there anymore, and whenever I'm there I take a book or a snack or whatever, and I just lay up there and nap and relax. It's this perfectly secluded spot, sort of like my own personal tree house, but with this amazing view of the French countryside."

"You take girls up there?" she asked, her voice laced with jealousy.

"Not yet. I'd love to take you up there. I want to take you with me, even if it's just for a couple of weeks. I want to spend as much time as I can with you before I go, just in case you aren't just being obstinate and your mother bars you from ever leaving the country. And I don't care about studying, I just saw an opportunity to get a little more time alone with you, so I took it."

She felt her defenses falling, and her physical reaction was to hold tighter to her towel. It was all the self-preservation she had left "You really want me to come with you?"

He didn't move from her bed, but he leaned forward. "I think you'd love it. I hope you'd want to be with me, too, but more than that I think you'd enjoy it there."

"I do want to be with you," she said, feeling the sentiment in every cell in her body.

"So if it's something we both want," he said, his eyes finally straying obviously to her towel.

"Then it's worth exploring," she finished for him, stepping closer to her bed.

"Rory," he said, meeting her eyes to reveal a fresh wave of want.

"You can stay for a little while," she said bravely.

His eyes lit up, though he wasn't sure if he should look in her eyes or at her towel—lest it somehow leave her person suddenly. She shook her head and made a twirling motion with her hand. "Turn around, please."

"Why would I turn around? All the action is that way," he said, gesturing to her towel again.

"I said you could stay, I didn't say you'd be getting a free show."

He put his hand on his back pocket. "You want cash?"

She glared at him sternly. "Turn around or go in the living room."

"If I turn around, will you at least narrate the process?"

She laughed at him. "I will not. Besides, I'm getting dressed, how sexy could that be?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "We could find out."

"Seriously. You've seen naked women before. I can't imagine I have anything you should get that excited about."

"Again I say, we could find out."

"Turn," she said pointing toward the head of her bed.

He let out a playful sigh. "Fine," he said as he sat up and obeyed her wishes.

She eyed him for a few seconds to make sure he had no plans to instantly attempt to sneak a peek before she turned and headed over to her wardrobe. She opened the door that would provide the slightest bit of a barrier to his line of view if he did try to peek and began pulling out clothes. "Tell me more about France."

"Like a history lesson? I thought you paid attention in European History," he teased.

She grabbed a t-shirt and pulled it over her head. "I meant more about your experience in France."

"There's not much to tell. When I was little I'd go and play in the vineyards and the far parts of the property. There was usually a lot of yelling going on when my dad and grandfather were trying to work together. He stopped coming as much when I was about ten, to focus on production here. I started going with my grandparents and spending whole summers helping with production and harvesting grapes. When I'm there, everything seems to happen so naturally—time passes in a different way. Nothing is rushed, nothing is important except what you're doing in that moment."

She found that she'd made no progress in getting dressed as she listen to him speak. She hastily grabbed some pants and slid her feet into each side. "You make it sound magical."

"It's not magic. It's just a different perspective on life," he said matter-of-factly.

Once she'd finished covering up enough exposed skin, she shut her wardrobe and climbed onto her bed so that she was seated on her knees behind him. "You can turn around now."

He ducked his head at an angle to see her before he wrapped an arm around her and deftly pulled her around to lie beside him. She let out a happy squeal at the brusque maneuver. "You know, even fully dressed, you're far more beautiful than any other girl I've ever seen naked."

She screwed her mouth up in a pouty frown. "Little tip. If you ever want to see me naked, lose the references to other naked girls during pillow talk."

"All you have to do is give me an image to replace anything that might be stored up here," he said, tapping his temple with a single finger.

"Maybe after finals. I'd hate for you to erase too much and fail all your exams," she teased.

"I don't know, that'd force me to stick around for summer school. It's a route to take," he pointed out.

She grew serious and shook her head. "I want you to go. Whenever you talk about it, whether you've made your mind up about your future or not, you sound like you love it. I want you to have that. In fact, I couldn't blame you for wanting to stay longer than the summer," she said, the words physically painful for her to say, but the message necessary to convey.

His lips against hers all the response she needed. Part of her felt guilty for being an anchor to a life that he wouldn't otherwise choose, especially at a time that he was being given a much better option. Her arms snaked up around his neck and she held on to him even as he pressed her deeper into her own mattress. Her bed wasn't built to accommodate more than one body, but she found that no matter where they were, their bodies fit together almost as one.

Everything was happening too fast—her feelings for him and his imminent departure, not to mention rethinking their whole futures with the thought of including the other. Regardless of the speed that had been set, she did have those feelings, and he was leaving, and they were rethinking their futures. She wanted her world to expand to accommodate him. She did feel complete with him. She wanted him to be happy. All those realizations washed over her in waves, hitting her harder and harder until she came to a very solid conclusion. A slightly terrifying and definitely life-altering conclusion.

"What's wrong? You just tensed up," he said as he ran his hand lightly up and down her upper arm soothingly. "Are you okay?"

Lying underneath him, wrapped up in his arms, she felt completely safe and wholly unwound. An attempt to explain the dualistic emotion to him would have ousted her from his arms and delved them back into heavy conversation. She wanted to be in his arms as much as she could while they had the benefit of time that was only restricted by her mother's outings and not his departure from the country.

"I'm good. This is good," she said genuinely, her blue eyes mirroring his want and readiness, before she arched up and caught his lips for a kiss that could dissolve away everything else.


	15. Chapter 15

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

AN: I'm sorry things are moving so slowly as far as new chapter posting. Life is beyond chaotic, and it's really putting a wrench into my writing time. That and balancing two fics is making each one wait their turn a little longer than usual. This one is winding down. I haven't mapped anything, but we're very, very near the end. Thanks as always for reading and reviewing and all the support you guys offer. It makes all the crazy real life stuff a little easier to deal with.

The week she'd been dreading had arrived. Not that she had much in the way of test anxiety—she was a notoriously good test taker, not to mention an expert in studying for said exams. Even in her unusually distracted state, she was sure to pass all the tests and trials that were set before her in the coming week. There was only one assessment that she feared failing. In fact, it was highly likely she was already on the road to failure when it came to her relationship with her boyfriend. His departure to France in the next week wasn't the reason she feared for the end of their relationship. His going thousands of miles away paled in comparison to her proven ability to completely derail their bond despite her best intentions.

"What's the matter, Gilmore, afraid you're going to fail the history final?" Paris asked as she sidled smugly up to their lockers early that Monday morning, looking as if she'd gotten a full eight hours of sleep the night before.

Rory steeled herself as she continued sorting through her locker for items she didn't need anymore. She figured doing it slowly over the course of the week was better than staying for two hours after the final bell on Friday, just on the chance that she and Tristan were back on speaking terms by then. At the rate they were going, it could go either way. "Go away, Paris. I have no interest in your mind games this morning."

"You're lucky that he doesn't grade on a curve, because the bar will be set very, very high this semester," Paris continued in her campaign, not put off by Rory's attempt to dissuade her.

"I get it, you're prepared. Message received," Rory said, gritting her teeth as she waited for Paris to get bored and move onto her next victim. Rory wasn't her only competition in that school, and Paris wasn't happy unless she was trouncing at least a half a dozen people with her superiority. Surely it would be easy enough to drown the other girl out with her thoughts until then—she certainly had enough else on her mind.

"I'm more than prepared. I've finally honed my system to perfection. Seriously, I'm thinking of patenting the process to make a little extra money to pad my college fund. I mean, I plan on getting more than one Ph.D. and they can get expensive. Relying on my family money seems a little short sighted as Mom and Dad seem content to piss it away in the divorce proceedings," she confided.

Rory turned to Paris, annoyed that she couldn't be left to mull the state of her possibly crumbling relationship alone. "Do I really come across as being concerned in the slightest about your personal problems?"

Paris smirked. "You really are unprepared, aren't you? Is it the history exam, or are you expecting a bad grade on the paper we're getting back from Medina this morning?"

"Leave her alone, Paris," Tristan boomed authoritatively from behind Rory, surprising both girls. Rory spun on her heels to face him, uncertain as to what his presence meant. She hadn't exactly been expecting an early morning visit after the way they'd left things the evening before.

"I forgot, you have your very own protector now," Paris said, with a snide glance between them. "But I get why you're not prepared for exams. The two of you probably didn't get much studying done together over the weekend, did you?"

"It'd be a shame if the guidance counselor got an anonymous tip that a Dean's List student was padding her grades by stealing copies of exams. I mean, it's hard juggling high grades and all those extracurricular activities, isn't it, Paris? Something has to give," Tristan led suggestively.

"Because anyone would believe such a lie?" Paris asked with narrowed eyes.

"That's not the kind of accusation they can ignore without an investigation, and once someone gets wind of it, you're associated with the rumor. It's not the kind of thing you'd want colleges hearing through the gossip mill. You know they have ears all over schools like Chilton."

"You wouldn't dare," Paris said to Tristan, testing his resolve.

"Try me," he said, standing his ground.

Paris huffed and slammed her locker shut. "Fine. Distract her more, it's no skin off my nose," she relented as she made her exit and left the two of them to talk. Rory wasn't so sure she was grateful for the opportunity or not, but she certainly didn't like the way in which he managed it.

"What is wrong with you?" she demanded.

"What kind of gratitude is that?" he asked, turning it back on her.

"Grateful for what? Your ability to spread malicious lies and get someone in trouble they didn't deserve?"

"Like Paris hasn't made every single day of your school year hell? Why does she deserve to get away with that?" he asked.

"Her bad behavior can't be offset by yours. That's not how it works," she argued.

"She's gone, isn't she? I'd say I'm pretty damn effective," he said, gesturing to the direction Paris had gone. "At everything I set my mind to, might I add."

Rory shut her locker with a snap. "I think I liked it better when we weren't speaking."

He cocked his head. "We weren't speaking?"

She furrowed her brow as she looked up at him. "You didn't call me last night. You left in a hurry, without a goodbye, and," she trailed off, having exhausted her list of evidence.

"I was mad."

"I figured that out," she said sarcastically, with an eye roll for effect. "Which is why I thought you weren't speaking to me."

"Can you blame me, after the way you acted yesterday?" he posed, stepping in toward her, backing her between him and the lockers. Her back met the metal as she tried to maintain a constant distance from him.

"You knew it was a hopeless cause," she led.

"With your mother, sure, but I didn't expect you to help her condemn the idea."

She didn't meet his eyes. "I raised a few concerns," she corrected.

"A few? I thought you said you wanted to come with me," he said, not backing away in the slightest.

"I did—I do," she said as adamantly as possible.

"But now you don't have to worry about what you want, do you?" he asked, his tone biting as his hurt wore through.

"I didn't say I blamed you for not talking to me," she offered lamely.

"So you were okay with me freezing you out? Because I was leaving at the end of the week, and you'd probably never have to deal with me again?"

Her eyes flashed as she stood straighter to defend herself. "No! But I thought I'd give you time, and not discuss it like this, in the hallway," she said, her voice far lower than his had been.

"We don't have time," he pressed again.

"Then why didn't you stay and hash it out last night? You just left, you didn't even," she stopped herself short.

"I didn't what?" he asked, leaning in further, if only just a fraction of an inch. It was enough to make her breath hitch.

"Say goodbye."

"It's just a word," he said, still intently focused on her.

"But it's not. Our goodbyes," she said, her voice filled with longing and more than one specific memory of trying to pry herself away from him at the end of the night. It always began in his car, a dance that continued against the side of his car after he opened her door for her, and ending on her front porch, with the dim yellow light casting down over them as they kissed in lieu of words.

The warning bell rang as they hung there, before he could respond. Both of them were caught up in the thought of easier times, when goodbyes only had to hold them over until the next day. Their emotions were too caught up in the knowledge that soon their goodbye would have to bridge a much longer gap.

"Are you two joining us?" Rory peered over Tristan's shoulder to see Mr. Medina standing in the emptying halls. "Class is starting."

"We'll be right there," Rory said, her voice coming out much more resolutely than she'd anticipated.

Their teacher nodded, obviously holding back further comment, and went down the hall to his classroom. Rory stared back at Tristan. "I guess we'll finish this later?"

"If you want me to just say goodbye," he said at last.

"I only want the goodbyes because they make me look forward to you coming back. You're supposed to come back," she said firmly.

"I'll come back. But the thought of you coming with me was much better," he admitted.

She chewed her lip. "I'll talk to Mom again. Alone," she said, not wanting to argue that fact again.

"I'm not getting into that ring again. Getting tag teamed by both of you was too much," he said.

"I panicked," she confessed.

"I noticed," he said with a harsh laugh.

"We should get to class."

He nodded and put a hand on her upper arm, holding her in place. "Maybe you shouldn't talk to you mom."

Her eyes registered the panic she felt. "What? Why?"

He shrugged. "I'm coming back. Maybe the time apart won't be a bad thing. It'll let us be… sure about things."

She was stunned at his sudden turnabout in mindset. "Oh."

He leaned down to kiss her as a few kids rushed past them to get to their rooms before the final bell rang. He brushed his mouth against hers and linked his hand in hers, beginning to drag her along with him before she could register the soft affection. She found herself rushing to keep up with him as they hurried down the hall.

"What are you doing?" she asked, by way of protest.

"You'll kill me if we miss our first final. I'm making sure you get to class before the second bell rings and Medina locks his door."

Rory couldn't argue with his logic, though large parts of it warranted a later discussion. She was no longer sure that telling him anything was enough anymore. When they'd first gotten together, she'd had to show him that she wanted to be with him. Perhaps, she decided as they took their seats to the sounds of the last bell, she was going to have to take the same route once again to get through to him.

-X-

Rory walked straight to the diner after she got off the bus in Stars Hollow. She was down two finals, with five more to go. Her relief was subdued by her more prominent plans to rescue her relationship. She just hoped that making things right with Tristan wouldn't put things with her mom back onto rocky ground. She sat down right next to Lorelai, who was waiting at the counter, with two large mugs of coffee.

"You're late," Lorelai said as her daughter settled onto the stool and dropped her bags at her feet.

"I had to take a later bus," Rory explained, already lifting the cup to her lips. "Hey, this tastes weird. Did Luke make this?"

"It's decaf," Lorelai smirked. "Luke ran out of the regular stuff after my third refill," she said, lifting said drink to her mouth with pleasure.

"It's finals week!" Rory protested out of disappointment.

"Be on time," Lorelai chided. "Why were you late?"

"Oh. Well, I was going to talk to Tristan, but Max cornered me instead," she said, putting her cup down.

Lorelai looked perplexed. "About what?"

"Well, actually, it was about something you discussed with him on my behalf. His having gone to Oxford for a semester," Rory said casually.

"I thought maybe it was about your paper," Lorelai said, trying to divert the direction of the conversation.

"Nope. We got them back today after our exam, but I got an A," Rory said with a smile. "He was glad I was looking outside of the country for university options. He said it was one of the best things he did, even just spending a semester getting a different viewpoint on his field of study."

"Travel is a great idea," Lorelai agreed hesitantly. "We've always talked about heading to Europe when you graduate."

Rory nodded and stared down at her drink. She felt the guilt wash over her. "Yeah, I know. And we'll do that, no matter what, right?"

Lorelai let out a breath. "Is this about the crazy idea Tristan wanted to talk about yesterday, you going to France this summer?"

"It wasn't his crazy idea," Rory corrected, albeit quietly.

"What do you mean? You were talking over him, giving every last reason I would have come up with for you not to go," Lorelai said, the memory fresh and enjoyable in her mind.

"That was… a mistake. I brought up the idea to him, and then I blamed him for wanting it to happen," she said, feeling guilt about that as well. She felt pulled in polar opposite directions, and she knew there might not be a favorable middle ground. She was going to upset some balance and she might lose something very important to her no matter how she chose.

"That would explain the look on his face, not to mention his exit," Lorelai nodded slowly. They sat there for a minute in silence, each with their own mugs, with people eating and talking and carrying on with life around them. Lorelai looked at her daughter, who was awaiting her reaction. "You want to go to France."

Rory nodded sheepishly. "Not for the whole summer. And you wouldn't have to worry about expenses, even though Tristan didn't want to insult you by offering to pay my way, but he has offered, to pay my way," she explained with a wary expression.

"So, he didn't just have a mental break and show up to discuss this on a whim, during some kind of panic as his departure loomed near?" Lorelai realized. "This is something you've discussed. A lot."

Rory nodded. "Yeah."

"Oh," Lorelai said, surprised to say the least, having realized just how much her daughter did want her approval in the matter.

"I told him from the start that you'd say no, and there was no way we could make it happen, but he's so incredibly stubborn and at times freakishly logical, which combines to make him incredibly hard to argue with," she ranted, gearing up toward the end.

"Likes a challenge, does he?" Lorelai asked knowingly.

"It's like he always has to be right, but in a way that everyone else must acknowledge it for him to gain any satisfaction from it. It's incredibly annoying," Rory spouted, relieved to be speaking about him so openly to her mother. She'd kept so much in, giving only filler details and information that served more as time markers than anything else. The sex issue seemed like a mandatory discussion, but it had soured her on any other discussion where he was concerned.

"You really like him," Lorelai said, sounding sad, yet a little proud.

Rory shook her head. "No. I love him."

Lorelai's eyes widened. "Oh. Right. So. Wow."

"I'm not saying that to change your mind out of pity."

Her mother offered her a weak smile. "I didn't think you'd resort to mind games and votes of sympathy. I'm not saying no, but I'm… not ready to say yes, either. I need to think about it."

"He leaves," Rory began, panicked again.

Lorelai held up a hand. "I get it. But I have to think about this. It's not my fault he's leaving in a few days and I wasn't given enough time to mull this over."

Rory quieted down and put her hands on the counter to restore her calm. "I know. Sorry. Take your time."

They were quiet a little while longer, a rarity between them, especially while out for coffee at that particular establishment. "Have you told him?"

"That I'm talking to you about going to France?" Rory asked, making the assumption.

Lorelai shook her head. "No. The love thing."

Her eyes widened. "Oh. No. Not yet."

Lorelai nodded. "But… you're sure?"

Rory nodded in response. "Yeah."

"I wasn't expecting this heavy of an emotional load this afternoon. You usually stick to lighter fare after finals-our conversations sound like they're straight out of an _US Weekly_. Where is Luke with that coffee?" Lorelai asked, turning her head to gaze out the large windows.

"I don't mean to keep telling you things that you don't want to hear. I don't want things to be weird between us."

Lorelai looked back to her daughter and put her hand over hers. "We can talk about everything. I know things have been off the last few weeks," she acknowledged.

"You don't like hearing about boy stuff," Rory said plainly.

Lorelai cringed. "It's not my favorite topic," she relented. "And I've got some of my own boy stuff going on too."

Rory frowned. "I thought you liked Max."

"I do! But still, it's not easy, the situation we're in. Technically he's still your teacher, and we're still working out some kinks."

Rory didn't appear to be put at ease by the insight. "I don't want to be the reason you're not happy."

Lorelai shook her head and gripped Rory's hand tighter. "Hey, you are never the problem. Okay, I wasn't thrilled when you were living at my parents' house, but you definitely always come before any guy I date."

"But I won't always. And I shouldn't. Eventually, I'll go to college, and I don't want you to be alone because you put off your life for my benefit. I'd like to know that someone will be around to make sure you eat and to turn off the TV when you fall asleep on the couch halfway through an AbFab marathon."

"Yes, apparently you'll be in France, drinking wine with your boyfriend," Lorelai groaned, making the attempt to keep it internal, but failing on a basic level.

Rory, however, perked up. "Wait. Does that mean I can go?"

Lorelai wagged a finger at her. "I didn't say that."

She eyed her mother warily. "But you're growing acclimated to the idea."

"You're sixteen."

"That's legal to drink in France."

Lorelai pointed her finger at her sternly. "You're not French. I do not want you drinking wine and having sex. If you'd like to know how well alcohol consumption and effective use of protection go together, well, take a good long look in the mirror, young lady."

Rory blushed furiously. "Wine is served with meals. And they run a winery. I could get trashed here, if I wanted to. I could have had sex before now too. I'm not trying to go to France just to have all the access to alcohol and sex."

"I know. I'm considering it, aren't I?" Lorelai agreed.

Rory nodded again. "Right. I just want to be clear. I want to be with him, but it's also a chance to travel and experience something new."

"But mostly because you don't want to miss him all summer."

"Mostly," Rory admitted.

Lorelai stood up and tossed some cash onto the counter. "We should get you home to study. I have some thinking to do, as well, it seems."

Rory stood up, with a hopeful expression as they collected their belongings. "Yes, you do."

-X-

Rory sat on the porch, with her feet up on the porch rails as her legs stretched out in front of her. It was late, but it was just past sunset, as she waited patiently for the familiar sight of headlights to pull up her street. She fought to remain in position as the lights and engine cut out, signaling the driver's impending exit. He walked slowly up the path to her house, but his long legs made up for the fact that he didn't seem to be in a particular hurry. He leaned against the railing once at the top step, resting right next to her legs as he considered her.

"Nice night for a drive?" she inquired.

"You called."

"I remember."

"So, I'm here."

She patted the seat next to her. "Sit."

He leaned his head to the side and cast a gaze down her legs, back up toward her torso. "I have a fine view from here, thanks."

She sat up, yanking her legs back and tucking them up underneath her. "Tristan."

"I'm right here," he said calmly, though not budging an inch.

She willed herself to break through his blasé exterior. "Earlier today, you said I shouldn't talk to my mom again."

He nodded curtly. "Yeah. And?"

"And I talked to her."

His head lolled back and he groaned. She frowned, realizing she had that effect on a lot of people lately. "Do you just never listen to anything I say? Or do you just wait for me to tell you what I'm thinking, so you can do the exact opposite?"

She leaned forward, further engaging in what was leading to yet another debate. "Neither. I didn't like the idea of us taking time apart this summer."

"I didn't say we should break up," he said wearily.

"Then what did you mean?" she asked guardedly.

"I just thought we might benefit from time to think. You keep talking a big game, but I get the feeling that even if you like the idea of being with me, you're still not ready."

"I don't need time to think," she countered, cross at the very idea.

"Arguing the point just to diffuse the situation won't work," he began.

"No," she said, standing up to get in his face. "I don't need time to think. I know I want to go to France this summer to be with you. I know I want to be with you as much as I can."

He stared her down, not backing away from her aggressive stance. "You sound sure, but I'm not convinced. It's going to take more than that this time."

She fixed her determination and her courage. "I love you."

He didn't appear moved by the gesture at first, in fact, she wondered if she'd upset him in some way. She was on the verge of asking just how she'd offended him when she felt his arms encircle her waist and pull her in hard against his chest. She might have bounced off from the sheer force of the motion, if he hadn't crashed his lips just as roughly against hers at the same time. Normally, knowing her mother was just a nudge of the curtain away from looking in on them, he was more restrained and cautious in the way he showed her affection at her house. There was no restraint to that kiss, and cautious was nowhere in sight. It left her breathless, but completely sure of his true reaction to her proclamation.

"So, you believe me now?" she asked softly, gulping in air after her freed her lips.

"You can be very convincing," he said, brushing his lips over hers again lightly.

"You make me work hard," she complained in a playful manner.

"Don't worry, I'll return the favor at the most opportune of times," he assured her, making her knees even weaker than his kiss had.

"It'll be work?" she asked, having never considered that angle.

"I'm going to make sure it lives up to your expectations," he elaborated.

"You know what I'm expecting?" she asked, toying with him a little. She wasn't quite sure what exactly to expect. She'd heard all kinds of first-time stories, from any number of sources—some more graphic than others. She'd heard enough girls reminisce about their time spent alone with him, but nothing she'd experienced with him had even compared with those stories. He was always blowing her expectations out of the water. She'd never imagined the way she could feel for him. She'd never imagined wanting to follow a boy anywhere, just like she'd always assumed she could put any sexual impulses aside until she was in college. He was excelling in proving her wrong, even when he was making her unbelievably happy in the process.

"I know how to make sure you'll enjoy it," he murmured in her ear.

"I trust you."

She thought he might kiss her again, but he kept his eyes on hers. "Is that why you talked to your mom again?"

"I shouldn't have freaked out. It wasn't fair to you."

He shook his head. "No, it wasn't."

"She's taking it under advisement."

His expression changed to shock. "She's thinking about it? Seriously considering it?"

She nodded with satisfied grin. "I'm not promising she'll agree to it. She is aware how much I care about you and the fact that we're getting as close as we are, but she also gets that I'm not trying to hide any of that or attempting to run off in order to take part in activities that make her lose sleep at night."

"She might say yes."

She smiled at his focus on the positive option. "She might."

"And you'd actually get on the plane and come with me."

"If she says I can, then yes."

"I'm glad I came over," he said finally.

She curled up into him again. "I thought you might feel that way."

"You can't win every argument like this, you know," he said, attempting a stern face.

"Like what?" she asked innocently.

"Telling me things I want to hear," he informed her.

She bit her lip coyly. "You wanted me to tell you I love you?"

"Well, not that part," he said flippantly, teasing her.

She smacked his shoulder. "Hey!"

He squeezed her tighter for a brief moment. "I'm kidding."

"Should I not have said it? Because I realized it's how I feel, and it felt wrong not telling you—like I was keeping it from you. I didn't say it because I expected you to say it back, or because I wanted you to not be mad at me anymore."

His brow furrowed and he let out a low whistle. "Damn. Then I'm doing this all wrong."

She shook her head and mirrored his expression. "Doing what all wrong?"

"I thought it would freak you out, after what happened with you and Dean, so I waited."

"You waited?" she asked in confusion.

"I knew a while ago, that's how I felt about you."

Her whole body felt light suddenly. "You did?"

He nodded, and this time he was the one left without words. She took a play from his book and kissed him like it was the last time she might have the chance. She wanted to make sure that she wasn't the only one that night that was saying things the other wanted to hear. She'd worried all day that her actions had irreparable consequences, and the best she could hope would be to mend them over time—time they might not have. But before he left for home, she was filled with all kinds of possibilities when it came to the two of them. He had inspired many things in her, but fear was not present like the last time she'd considered being in love with her last boyfriend. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that loving Tristan opened up a whole world of possibilities for her, and she only felt excitement to see where that would lead.


	16. Chapter 16

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

Emily discreetly checked her watch and re-crossed her legs at the ankle. "So, you must be relieved to have finished your final exams."

Rory was far more obvious as she craned around to look back toward the front entrance of the Gilmore house. Not only was it a little unusual for her to be alone with her grandmother during a Friday night dinner, it was stranger because everyone else was running late. Even more awkward was the attempt not to discuss her impending trip, when it was all she could think about.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Do you think you did well?"

Rory looked up at her grandmother and offered a pleasant smile. "I think so. It's hard to tell with Chemistry sometimes."

"Everyone has favored subjects. We know where your strengths lie," Emily said, beaming. "What will you be taking this summer?"

Rory tried to steady her nerves. "Actually I was going to discuss that with you tonight. I just thought that more people would be here when I did."

"Have your plans changed? Did you mother finally decide to take time off and give you a proper vacation this summer?" Emily asked hopefully.

"Well, I am going to take a vacation, but Mom isn't taking time off."

Emily arched a perfectly sculpted brow. "You're going on vacation alone?"

"Not exactly," she deflected as she shifted slightly in her seat.

Emily stiffened. "Are you going to see Christopher? He's still in California, last I heard, but is he equipped for you to stay with him? Crashing on someone's couch might sound bohemian, but it's how bums live."

Rory tried to hide her smile by pressing her lips together hard. "No, Dad hasn't invited me to come out. I actually have the opportunity to go to France."

"Is this put together by the school, some sort of tour? I thought they were going to the British Isles."

"They are. I'm not going with the school."

"Hey, sorry, sorry Mom," Lorelai said as she rushed into the room, still in her coat with her purse hanging off her arm. She looked like she'd run on foot the whole way to the house, instead of merely sprinting in from her Jeep.

"Honestly, Lorelai, you're already late, you can't take one second to let the maid take your coat and purse?" Emily asked in her own exasperated way.

Lorelai looked around. "Where is Dad?"

Emily scowled. "You're late. Just because you're not the last to arrive doesn't excuse your tardiness."

"I didn't postpone dinner and I have time for a drink, ergo, I'm right on time," Lorelai corrected her mother with a triumphant smile.

"You're interrupting Rory's story and you're late. Both of which are very rude, and I'd appreciate it if you'd just get yourself situated and let Rory continue. I assume you can make your own drink?"

"Now who's being rude, Mom?" Lorelai asked, giving Rory a wink and mouthing, 'I need to talk to you.'

Rory pulled herself back to Emily, though curious as to what her mom wished to discuss and why she was so late. "Well, the thing is, Tristan invited me to go to France and stay with his family for a few weeks."

Emily didn't say anything at first, she just kept gazing at Rory evenly, as if she were expecting her to let on that she was just kidding.

"Um, so I am."

Emily turned to Lorelai, who was still shaking her martini. "You're allowing this?"

"It's not like I didn't think about it first. I made them wait two days for my final decree. That's a decade in teen-years."

"And at no time in two days of thought did you come up with a single reason that she shouldn't go traipsing off to Europe with her boyfriend? She's sixteen!"

"They aren't traipsing, they're flying first class."

"Lorelai!"

"What, Mom? I spoke with his grandfather, and any and all concerns I might have had were put to rest. Rory will be under their supervision and Tristan knows that if she doesn't come home in exactly the same condition that she left in, he'll have to answer to me."

Emily shook her head bitterly. "I knew you had lax rules, but this takes the cake."

"The Dugreys are your friends. You don't trust them to be good hosts to your granddaughter?" Lorelai posed, trying to rationalize with her mother on a level she could understand.

"Yes, Lorelai, I'm sure they'll be wonderful hosts, but they can't keep an eye on the kids every minute of every day. They have a business to run."

"We're all busy, Mom. I can't watch Rory every minute of every day, and neither can you. Luckily she doesn't require constant attention any more. Did you watch her every single second when she was here?"

Emily glanced at Rory. "She was safe while she was here."

"And I believe she'll be safe while she's in France," Lorelai countered.

Rory watched the exchange with unease, though she was immensely grateful for her mother going to bat for her. She knew it hadn't been an easy decision to come to, to let her only daughter leave the country for a significant portion of time in the company of her boyfriend, with a watchful family around or not.

Emily's scowl didn't budge. "When do you leave?"

Rory raked her teeth over her lower lip. "Monday."

"This Monday? How long will you be gone?"

"Three weeks."

Emily didn't respond, but her silent reaction was icier than any words she could have offered. After a minute, she stood up and excused herself from the room.

Lorelai leaned in to Rory. "Uh-oh. I think she's gone to get the chastity belt."

Rory frowned. "I didn't think she'd be that mad."

"Never underestimate Emily Gilmore's disappointment. It's fierce and eternal. Luckily for you, I have news that will provide a great distraction."

Rory perked up. "What is it?"

Lorelai steeled herself and put her drink on the table so she could place both hands over Rory's. "Ready?"

Rory nodded. "I think so."

"Because this is big. Big, big. Huge, actually."

"What is it?"

Richard roamed into the living room. "Hello girls. Where's Emily?"

"She disappeared. I thought maybe she was looking for you."

"She knew very well where I was. I told her I'd be late because I had a last-minute meeting with Janlen to go over his account before dinner. They should be along any minute."

Lorelai shot Rory an inquisitive look. "Tristan's coming tonight?"

Rory nodded. "Didn't I mention that?"

"Emily thought it would be a nice gesture, since the kids will be apart all summer," Richard said sympathetically.

"No wonder she was so mad," Lorelai said under her breath as the doorbell rang.

"Ah, there they are. Emily!" Richard called as he left the two girls alone to wait for everyone else.

Rory grabbed her mom's elbow. "Mom, what were you going to tell me?"

Lorelai smiled. "Max proposed."

Rory's mouth fell open. "He what?"

"Crazy, right?"

"I…," Rory began, but didn't get to finish as she found herself rising to her feet to greet her boyfriend, while Lorelai shook Janlen's hand.

"It's a shame Grace couldn't join us," Richard said to Janlen.

"She'd already planned to have dinner with her sister. She misses her when we're abroad, and since we're not sure how long we'll be this time, it was important to her to get in as much time as she could."

"I understand that. Emily cherishes the time she gets to spend with her sister when we're there."

"Where is Emily?" Janlen asked.

"Uh, she went to get something. I'll go get her," Lorelai offered, patting Rory on the shoulder as she took off.

"Everything okay?" Tristan asked Rory, under his breath.

Rory met his eyes with bewildered uncertainty. "I have no idea."

"Will you excuse us for a minute?" Tristan asked their grandfather's leading her out to the back patio and out of earshot. "What's going on?"

Rory glanced nervously back to the windows. "They're going to think we came out here to make out."

He smiled knowingly as he leaned in toward her. "I won't disappoint them, then."

She put a firm hand to his chest to hold him back. "Emily's on the warpath. There will be no making out on the premises tonight."

He frowned. "You told her?"

She nodded. "I had to. I'll be missing dinners and Mom can't keep saying I'm sick, or Emily will get worried and freak out. Also, she tends to think sick is code for pregnant, especially when the excuse is given too often for teenage girls."

"Your mom really did a number on them, didn't she?" he asked. "I mean, I get it. My dad has given everyone that's ever met him trust issues."

"Grandma thinks we need round-the-clock supervision or else we'll fall victim to every sort of evil that could stem from having hormones."

"If only she knew what kind of torment you were keeping me under," he murmured, his words softly tickling the side of her cheek.

She closed her eyes, enjoying his nearness. It'd been a long week, with its ups and downs, and she'd thought at that point they'd be in the clear to just enjoy their time together. "There's more."

"Richard wants to chat with me?" he guessed with a wary expression.

Rory alleviated that concern. "He doesn't know yet."

He tilted his head. "What is it, then?"

"Max proposed."

He seemed completely unsure what to do with that information. "Wow. Did she say yes?"

Rory wasn't expecting that question, but it occurred to her that it was one she should have asked herself. "I don't know. I would assume so."

"Did she say she was getting married or that he proposed?"

"That he proposed. Do you think she'd say no?"

"I would never guess what your mother might do. I'm just glad my grandfather was able to convince her you'd be safe coming with us."

"This night could be a disaster," she warned.

"What do we care? We're out of here on Monday."

"But I'll have to come back after three weeks. And left alone, Mom and Grandma never come together well. By the time I get back, this issue could have morphed into World War Three, unless Grandma feels better about me going with you by Monday."

"If my grandfather can make Lorelai feel comfortable with it, surely he can assuage any concerns Emily and Richard have. They know him a lot better than Lorelai does."

"Yeah. I wish I knew what exactly was going on with Mom. She was late, and then she just drops this huge news on me when we can't discuss it."

"Do you want her to marry Max?" he asked.

Rory thought about it. "I want her to be happy. And if that means marrying Max, then I'm on board. He's a great guy. And technically he's no longer my teacher, so he wasted no time in jumping that hurtle."

He ran a hand down her arm. His fingers left a warm wake down her bare skin. She looked up in his eyes and smiled. "I can't believe I get to go with you."

He returned the smile. "Believe it. It'll be just you and me for three weeks."

"And your family. Your grandfather was very clear that we'd rarely be left to our own devices," she reminded him.

"My grandfather," he began in a corrective tone, "knew what it would take for your mother to feel comfortable letting you come. It was in his best interest to do that, since having you there is what will make me happy to be there."

"He lied?" she asked in wide-eyed disbelief.

He considered her question. "He embellished."

"We can't possibly be completely alone for three weeks," she uttered in disbelief.

"It's not like we'll be on a deserted island—not that I would complain about that—but it will be very easy for us to lose quite a few hours, roaming on the grounds, enjoying a good amount of freedom."

Her heart was pounding harder than she'd ever noticed before. "And just what will we be doing in those free hours?"

His knuckles grazed her cheek with a feather-light stroke. "Whatever we want."

Her eyes closed as his thumb lingered at the outer edge of her lips. "Like drink wine and have sex?"

Her words hadn't been dreamy or excited. Instead her words had come out as alarmed and confused. "Rory?"

Her eyes opened. "I promised Mom that wasn't what this was about."

"It's not," he said assertively.

She put her hand on his and brought it down from her face. "I'm not saying we need a chaperone at every moment, but I don't like the idea of lying to my mom like that."

"Your mom will be here planning her wedding. Do you really want to rush in there and call my grandfather a liar and get stuck staying here?"

"No! I'm just trying to figure out exactly what I'm getting into."

He looked like she'd slapped him. "What you're getting into? Are you kidding me?"

"You know what I meant," she snapped.

"I do know what you meant, that's the problem. This was your idea, a fact that you keep forgetting."

"Can we not do this tonight?"

"When should we do it, when we land?"

"I want to be with you, Tristan, but I'm scared, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I'm scared."

His hand went to her hip, and he held her firmly without drawing her closer. In the dark shadows of the patio, if any of the adults was looking out at them, they'd be none the wiser that he was even touching her. "Scared of me?"

"No, not of you. Of all the unknown factors. Of what happens when we're completely alone and there's nothing to stop us from," she cut off as she put her hand to his chest, but this time she gripped his shirt and pulled him into her.

There was a knock at the patio door and then Lorelai opened it slowly to give them a second to step apart before she stuck her head out. "It's going to be a while before dinner. Mom's refusing to come out of her room, so I'm going to try to bribe her out with the promise of buying me a new wardrobe, and Dad's taken Janlen back to his den to discuss more business, so if you two get hungry, hit the kitchen and bribe the maid. It could be a while."

Rory nodded, glad that the dark of night masked her flushed features. "Okay. We're good."

Lorelai glanced from one teen to the other. "Okay."

She was gone in the next minute and Rory turned to face Tristan. "You hate me."

He kissed her forehead and sighed. "No."

"I realize this is no big deal to you," she managed, trying to bridge the gap between them.

"It is a big deal to me. I want you to be comfortable, not scared. And there's no pressure to partake in certain activities just because we're allotted all that free time together."

"But you want to," she reasoned.

He smiled, a bit sheepishly. "Yeah, I want to. I always want to. But I do have restraint, amazingly enough."

Desire overwhelmed her in a flash, but once it was embedded in her mind she felt a rush that pushed her fear into excitement. "What if I don't?"

"Don't want to?" he asked, pensively trying to read her mixed messages. Nothing about her body language suggested she wanted anything other than to be as close to him as possible. Her hand interlaced with his, and she began walking toward the path that led to the grounds behind the house.

"Don't have restraint," she corrected as she continued pulling him along willingly behind her.

His eyes widened. "Is this some sort of test? Our families are inside," he reminded her.

She glanced to the big house. "It takes Grandma forever to agree to be coaxed out of her room when she gets like this. And our grandfathers are probably drinking scotch and discussing their golf games, and won't realize what's going on until the maid tells them that we're ready to sit down to dinner."

She reached for the door to the pool house and opened it effortlessly. She didn't hit the lights, and he stepped in after her, shutting them into the semi-dark space with a quiet click. "This is kind of sudden, isn't it?"

"You said you always want to," she said, leaning up on her toes to kiss him.

He dutifully kissed her back, leaving no doubt in her mind that he'd spoken the truth earlier. Despite the fact that he never brought it up, it was clear that he was always ready for more, every time they were intimate. His body was always on some predestined path, instinctually heading toward the next peak that she hadn't realized was coming. He never seemed in a hurry, and she relished in every new sensation as they quickly became something she craved. His touch was always welcome and no matter what she was always left wanting more.

His hands caressed up her neck, threading up through her hair from the neckline. She tilted her chin up toward him as he cradled her head. Her eyes fluttered shut as his lips paused at her ear. "We can't do this now."

She reset her resolve. She kissed him again, this time making sure he got the point that she was ready. Her hands slid under his jacket, flatting out and working their way up to his shoulders until gravity took care of sliding it off his arms. She kept her eyes on his, playful but serious, as she leaned in to kiss his jaw and began to nimbly unbutton his shirt. He didn't stop her, allowing her free reign as she gained full access to his uncovered chest.

"We don't have time," he spoke again, though she detected the strain of regret.

"Does it really take that long?" she asked, putting her big blue eyes to work with a mix of innocence and desire.

A chuckle escaped his throat and he kissed her again. Her hands wound around his waist and up the back of his open shirt. He stepped her backward until her back met the wall and her pliability was a clear sign she was receptive to letting him escalate things a little too far out of control. He groaned when he pulled away from her, which wasn't as effective as she kept her hands tight on him. "I want to be able to take our time, and not be racing against the clock. I also don't have everything with me," he said pointedly.

"What else do you need?" she asked breathily.

"Protection," he said, jarring her with reality.

"Oh. You don't have anything at all?" she asked with vivid disappointment.

He fixed her with a knowing look. "I don't normally carry it around with me to dinner with my grandfather. Nothing about this evening prompted me to grab condoms."

"Right," she said, trying to regulate all the parts of her that had gotten more than a little caught up in the moment. Her whole system was working overtime.

"I appreciate the gesture, you have no idea," he began.

"Not making me feel better," she admitted, glad she hadn't taken more drastic measures.

"You were really ready to just throw down in the pool house?" he asked, the idea not helping him tamper down his desire.

"Throw down?" she inquired, partially teasing him, though instantly drawn to the idea.

He smiled. "It's a way to go," he admitted. "Not much talking, just grabbing each other and making quick work of things."

She swallowed, hard. "Yeah?"

"I don't mean that I'd be rough with you," he backed off, not wanting to frighten her. He gripped her hip again with his hand, pulling her back to him in a needful manner. "Not that it's a gentle act either."

She nodded, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "That's okay," she managed at last.

"Rory," he breathed her name. "How much time do we have?"

"Enough," she said, crashing back against him. Her lips met his in hunger, dinner forgotten as they enjoyed the perks of being lost in their own little hiding spot.

"I'll have something, from now on," he promised as he kissed what felt like burning trail down her neck. She thrust her hips up against his in response. A curse came out with his next breath and both of his hands clamped at either side of her hips, digging in just enough to stop her.

"Too much?" she asked, surprised that she was capable of rational thought.

"Just enough," he said before he kissed her again. They stood there, lips pressed together and joined with his hands at her hips and her hands on his shoulders, steadying themselves. "Still scared?"

She offered a slight bob of her head. "In a good way, though."

"And you still want to come with me?" he checked, her earlier words still fresh in his mind.

"Possibly more than ever," she admitted.

He emitted a slow sigh. "Should we go find out if your mom's getting married?"

She put her hand over his as he had begun to close his shirt front. "You can't mention that in there. Mom won't tell Grandma yet, especially if she hasn't given Max an answer."

"Your secret safe with me, as long as you don't call out my grandfather as a liar."

She reluctantly let go of his hand so he could make himself presentable for their families. "Deal. Did he really do that just to make you happy?"

Tristan nodded. "Yep. I'm a hot commodity. My dad offered to buy me a new car if I stayed."

"Does that mean you like me more than a fancy new car?" she inquired.

He glanced up and winked at her. "For now."

"Tristan Dugrey," she scolded playfully.

"You get me going faster than any car yet made, don't worry," he soothed her.

She took the compliment, but shook her head at him. "You missed a button," she said, reaching out to automatically fix it for him.

"I'm distracted. You're standing really close and you smell really good," he said with a groan of longing.

"Excuses, excuses," she teased him with a bat of her eyes. "There. No one will know you were in the pool house half naked."

"I'll know. And you'll know. And when we're sitting across the table at dinner, and I give you a knowing wink, we'll both remember."

She poked a finger in his once-again covered chest. "Be nice."

"Hey, I'm just trying to keep your mind in the game. You have to stay in the zone, because next time I'll have all my bases covered."

"Sports metaphors aren't sexy," she informed him with a slight pout.

"You want sexy?" he asked, leaning in toward her once again. He was slow and methodical this time, each time his lips met her skin slightly more tantalizing than the last. "Can we meet tonight, after dinner?" he asked between kisses.

"I can only imagine dinner will be over before it begins," she proffered, still wanting more. "And if Mom said yes to Max, she might head out to his house. I'd need a ride home."

His eyes sparkled, even in the dim light. "I could give you a ride. Though I might need to make a quick stop to pick something up on the way."

She shook her head and put her hand to his chest, feeling his heart beating as quickly as her own. "No need. There's some at the house."

He stared into her eyes, waiting for her to back out or otherwise imply she wasn't really ready. "You're sure?"

"In the upstairs bathroom," she said, still gazing into his eyes. She saw his surprise, which had fought its way up through lust and desire and a whole host of other emotions that drove him to want to touch her.

"I mean, sure about using them."

Her answer was solid in her mind, but nonetheless her heart hammered in her chest and she had the oddest sensation of feeling her blood rush through her veins. Her whole body felt invigorated and brought to a new precipice. She was keenly aware that there was something greater, just past the feeling he had so often evoked in her. "Yes."

"In that case, we should go see if the party's breaking up early on account of your grandmother being overwrought about your impending departure with your sex-crazed boyfriend."

She nodded mutely and kissed him again, her emotions welling up inside her at the prospect of how the night might end. "I need to talk to Mom."

A thought occurred to him, and he wrapped his hand around hers. "You aren't going to tell her tonight, are you?"

She glanced down at the floor. "I'd always promised her I would, but no. I don't think so, not with everything the way it is. She's onboard with me going, and she's excited about Max, but I don't know. I want it to be about us, not about how she's going to react. I need to figure out if she's going to head to Max's, then we'll know if we have the house to ourselves."

"Okay. I'll go check on our grandfathers. I'll see you inside."

She studied him for a moment. "You aren't coming now?"

He gave her a tight smile and cleared his throat. "I need a minute. I'll be right behind you."

She blushed and nodded, kissing his cheek before leaving him alone in the pool house. She didn't look back, simply crossing the patio in a rush to get to the main house. No one was waiting in the sitting room, so she made for the stairs. She found her mother sitting in the hallway outside her old bedroom door, staring at her cell phone.

"Hey. Is Grandma still mad?"

"I think she's asleep. At any rate, she's not talking to me. Max just called."

Rory sat down next to her mother. "So, did you answer him?"

Lorelai shook her head. "I told him I had to think about it. He said he'd be patient, but that was him, suggesting I come over so we can discuss any concerns I might have."

Rory frowned. "So, you do have concerns?"

"A few. You know, where we'd live, if he puts the empty milk carton back in the fridge, acceptable levels of clean laundry, that sort of thing. All the finer points of domestic life."

"You put the empty milk carton back in the fridge all the time."

"Exactly. And if he does too, then doesn't that mean we're two of a kind? Practically made for each other?" Lorelai posed.

"Or he could put it in the recycle like a good person should, and you'd be opposites who attract," Rory offered. "A modern-day_ Odd Couple_."

Lorelai put her hand on her daughter's knee with a little pat. "I don't want to leave you all night when you're about to leave for France in a couple of days. We should have some girl time."

"We can do that tomorrow. I'm exhausted from finals and the drama of tonight. I need to gear up for a girls' night."

Lorelai seemed cheered by the information. "It won't make me the worst mother ever? How will you get home?"

Rory pretended to think it over. "Tristan could drop me off. He drove himself over."

"Mmm," she sighed. "The boyfriend."

"He's taken me home a hundred times," Rory pointed out, trying to reaffirm her mother's already gained trust.

"True. I guess he's your top choice."

"Generally speaking," Rory nodded with a hint of a blush. It was harder than she thought, to keep the information from her mother, but obviously easy enough to accomplish.

"Okay, let's go before Mom comes out and decides her best revenge is to keep us here for five courses of food that countries who still make use of canings and beheadings serve to their prisoners."

"Deal," Rory said, standing up alongside her mother and making for the stairs. Tristan was standing in the entryway, waiting with his eyes trained on her as she descended the stairs.

"Any luck?"

Lorelai shook her head. "She's battened down for the long haul. She may never speak to us again, and for that, you have my eternal thanks."

He gave a soft chuckle. "You guys leaving then, too? Grandfather made his exit already."

Lorelai put her arm around Rory. "Yeah. Would you mind giving her a lift home? I've got an errand to run in Hartford."

Tristan kept his composure in the face of Lorelai's evasive description of her own plans and the way that it fell in line with their hastily-formed agenda. His years of practice maintaining his decorum in the face of a host of scenarios served him well.

"My pleasure. You ready?"

Rory nodded. "Yeah, my school stuff is by the door," she said, to which he turned and picked up her backpack, full of the remnants of her school year and her uniform that she'd shoved into the confines as well.

"Careful, that thing can give you a hernia," Lorelai cautioned.

"I got it," Tristan assured Lorelai as he opened the door. He looked down at Rory. "Shall we?"

Rory hesitated for a split second, switching her sights from his hopeful and waiting face to her mother's. The only guilt she felt for embarking on her journey without full disclosure to her mother was a slight twinge. It all but dissipated when Lorelai gave her a nod and a smile, and Rory took his hand. "Let's go."


	17. Chapter 17

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

AN: Anyone still there? Guys, I didn't abandon this, even though it's been for-ever. I realize, as I've had parts of this written since October. October! It's shameful. But I wasn't doing any writing for a while, and that led to things sucking even more and then I decided to go with what I was feeling and I was feeling something else more. I needed to get the juices flowing. So I did. I came back to this when I was ready, and now, at last, this chapter is ready. If you stuck it out, I thank you.

Rory pulled her robe around her body as tightly as she could, even though her pajamas offered full coverage beneath. It was a vast change from her state of dress not two hours prior. She'd just awoken to the usual sounds from the Gilmore kitchen—the coffee maker brewing and the toaster lever being depressed. However it was the second time she'd woken up that morning—the first involving soft kisses and the heat from Tristan's body against hers that had kept her warm while they slept in the early morning hours. She'd been reluctant to watch him leave in the dim morning light, even though she knew her mother's arrival wasn't far off, and it was best for all involved if her morning was split into two realities.

It'd taken her a while to fall back to sleep once he'd left, leaving her to toss and turn and never quite find a position as comfortable and contented as she'd been in his arms. A smile lingered on her lips as she tied off her robe and reached for her door, realizing that they may get a chance to share a bed again while they were overseas. It was enough to set off butterflies in her otherwise empty stomach.

Lorelai stopped pouring her coffee the moment Rory appeared in the doorway, all happy and fresh from her bed. "Morning."

Rory sat down at the kitchen table as if it were business as usual and picked through the newspaper. "Morning."

"Coffee?" Lorelai asked.

Rory glanced up with a furrowed brow. "That's a rhetorical question, right?"

Lorelai shook her head and reached for another mug. "Right, right. Sorry I was gone all night."

Rory took her mug and immediately brought it to her lips. After she took an initial sip, she licked her lips. The taste of salt from Tristan's skin mingled with the slightly bitter residue of her coffee. "No problem. How's Max?"

Lorelai sat down and stared at her daughter. "Good, he's good. He's happy. Very happy, actually."

Rory cocked an eyebrow, wondering when her mother would get to specifics. "Did he win a contest?"

Lorelai took in a deep breath. "I told him yes. I'm engaged. To Max."

"Ohmygod!" Rory exclaimed, the news not wholly unexpected but at the same time not having been a sure thing. Her mother had been finicky and gun shy with men in the past, even with ones she really liked. She's already broken up with Max once due to her own insecurities. The milestone in Rory's life that transpired the night before was huge, but she was fairly sure her mother's engagement news trumped even that. In an instant she was out of her seat and hugging her mother. "We have to plan your wedding. Did you set a date? How long do we have?"

Lorelai laughed as she hugged her daughter back. "We have time, I think. We didn't talk about when we should get married. He mentioned a class he's teaching this summer, so we're not going to run away and elope immediately. Not that I won't put that option on the table."

Rory drew back. "You can't elope!"

"Why not? I'll bring you!"

Rory shot her mother an expectant glare. "No, this is your wedding. You should wear a fancy dress and have lots of beautiful flowers and have everyone you love there when you walk down the aisle."

Lorelai smirked at her. "That means everyone will also watch you walk down the aisle, as my maid of honor."

Rory clutched her chest appreciatively. "Maid of honor?"

Lorelai nodded, happier than her daughter had seen her in a very long time. "Who else?"

"Can a maid of honor bring a date?"

Lorelai let out a sigh. "You may. Speaking of Tristan, did you completely take advantage of the fact I wasn't around to enforce a proper curfew last night?"

Rory let go of her mom and cleared her throat. "He may have stayed for a while."

Her voice had altered, and she knew Lorelai immediately picked up on the difference in her demeanor. She'd breached the point of no return thanks to her mother's radar. There would be no end to the conversation until she made the big reveal. She was more than a little guilty for sneaking it in with her mother's big news. "How long is a while? He's not… oh, God, he's not still here, is he?" she asked, her last words coming out in a stage whisper.

"No!" Rory said adamantly. She closed her eyes. The image that met her mind's eye was his face as he hovered over her, before leaning his whole body down to allow his lips to cover hers while he finally joined their bodies at a much lower juncture. "But he did stay for a while."

"Stop saying 'a while.' What time did he leave?" Lorelai asked, her tone growing demanding.

Rory shrugged. "I don't know specifically, but not long ago. A couple of hours at most."

Lorelai sat down heavily. Her lack of response was far more troubling to Rory than any yelling or lecturing she might have unleashed.

"Mom? Are you okay?"

"I just felt like I needed to sit. It came on suddenly, so I did it suddenly. You do have more to tell me, don't you?" she asked, her voice oddly calm.

Rory nodded and sat down again as well. "We were careful. I did everything you told me to do, in that regard. We'd talked about it, and we used protection."

Lorelai closed her eyes slowly. "You had sex."

Rory waited patiently for her mother to open her eyes, but that didn't seem to be happening any time soon. "Yes."

Lorelai's eyes snapped open at the confirmation. "Why last night? Just because you thought I'd be gone?"

"No. I mean, the timing did work out that way, but you know how you always said that I'd know when the time was right?"

Lorelai cringed. "I know I said that, but I was really hoping when that time came I'd be in a nursing home, or at least on a lot of really good mood elevators. I'm nowhere near my pharmacologically enhanced years."

"It felt right. And it was amazing," she said, not being able to keep the memories at bay. Parts of her body felt incomplete without him, now that she knew just how intricately they could fit together.

Lorelai held up a hand to stop her description. "Okay, okay. That's too weird. Maybe when you're older and there can be copious amounts of alcohol to pad the sex talk, we can discuss finer details. But you're sure you had all your bases covered? Because you can never have too much protection. We should get you on the pill, but that doesn't mean he should stop wearing condoms. Has he been with other girls?"

Rory grimaced, not wanting to think again of his past—or to scare her mother with it. "I promise, it's all taken care of, except the pill, but that's probably not a bad idea, considering."

Lorelai rubbed her temples gingerly. "I have a headache."

Rory stood up after her mother, who had begun a cabinet-to-cabinet search for painkillers. "Should I not have told you? I didn't mean to put a damper on your news, but I thought you'd want to know. You always said you wanted to know."

Lorelai gripped the bottle she'd been in search of triumphantly. "No, it's good that you told me. It's just that we had champagne last night, because he's the kind of guy that keeps a bottle in his fridge for impromptu good news. He's an optimist. He also keeps regular food in there; it's not like here where it's usually just ketchup and a jar of olives that I think we inherited with the house. And after the champagne, we didn't sleep too much, so that in conjunction with the fact that I'm twice your age means I have a killer headache. It's not you. I mean, you look happy. You are good, right? He was… good to you?"

Rory couldn't help the smile that reappeared as memories resurfaced in conjunction with the answer to that particular question. "He was. You aren't going to glare at him like he's a prison escapee now, are you?"

Lorelai let out another sigh. "Well, at least he'll be in France for a couple months, so maybe by the time he gets back my glare will be lessened to the one I use for people who don't clean up after their dogs."

"If it makes a difference in the matter, I do love him," Rory reminded her mother.

"Which is why he's not in jail," Lorelai said with a very wide smile.

Rory cocked her head. "Seriously, though. Are we okay?"

Lorelai regrouped before her daughter's eyes. "It's inevitable, I guess. I can't expect nothing to ever change. Everyone grows up and falls in love, even my kid."

"Things are changing for you, too. You're in love with Max. You're getting married."

Lorelai smiled sadly. "Yeah, I am. Listen, I should go get ready for work. You seeing Tristan today?" she asked knowingly.

Rory smiled. "Yeah. But we're still on for dinner together, right?"

Lorelai nodded. "Absolutely. I need all the time I can with you before you leave me to my own devices."

Rory chuckled at her mother's dramatic phrasing. "You'll hardly be all alone. You'll have Max."

It struck her as odd, the way her mother offered only a forced smile and a nod before heading down the hallway toward the stairs to get ready for her day after a night out with the man she'd agreed to marry. It was hardly the reaction Rory expected, even with the untimely news that she'd dropped on her mother.

-X-

That afternoon, Rory opened the door to find her boyfriend smiling at her as he waited on her front porch with his hands behind his back.

"Hi," he said, his smile still firmly in place.

"Are you going to do that all afternoon?" Rory asked skeptically.

He frowned momentarily. "What am I doing?"

"Smiling at me like you're expecting my clothes to magically disappear."

He smiled again. "And the likelihood of that happening is?" he led hopefully.

"Slim to none. I … told Mom."

He winced. "Already?"

Her eyes went wide at the fact that she had to explain herself in the matter. "I can't lie to her about something this big."

"I never said you should lie, but did you have to lead with it the first chance you got? I was hoping to actually enjoy this for a little while before she tried to have me killed."

"I didn't lead with it, but not telling her would have been lying by omission, to let her think nothing was going on—that we hadn't," she said, hanging up on the actual words.

He stared at her quizzically. "Had sex," he supplied.

She let out a sigh. "Yes."

"Because we have," he said in a firm, slightly frustrated manner.

She narrowed her gaze at him in a slightly distrustful manner. "I was there. I remember."

"And we will again," he echoed pointedly.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "If my mother doesn't kill you first."

He stepped in closer and eased his arms around her waist, despite her still closed off posture. "We'll probably do it countless more times."

She couldn't resist the urge to roll her eyes at him. "I thought you said that just because we started doing it that didn't mean it's all we'd do from then on."

"There's no time limit. Is there?"

She relaxed in his arms and searched his face. "I don't know. What's the longest you've ever dated someone?"

His brow furrowed slightly. "Ah… I don't know."

It was her turn to be annoyed. "How can you not know?"

"I've never really kept track. Why would I?"

She raised an eyebrow. "How long have we been dating?" she challenged him.

He drew back at the provocation. "Are you serious?"

"There are certain things we should know about each other, given the fact that we," she said, once again cutting off before getting to the meat of the sentence.

"We've had sex. Why can't you say that out loud?" he asked, turning the tables on her.

"I can say it. But if I do, you'll get that smirk and the glimmer in your eyes that makes me sure that you're thinking about me naked and not hearing anything else I'm saying."

"Say it, then," he urged, not letting her weasel out on a technicality.

"First you have to tell me something personal about me. Or us," she said, thinking she'd caught him in a trap that would give her a little leverage in the situation.

"Like how long we've been going out?" he led.

"Anything personal, like my birthday or my middle name or when we met."

He was quiet for a moment, but he gazed at her guardedly in the meantime like he was certain she'd lost her mind. She braced herself for a stereotypical rant about how he didn't need to memorize facts about her to know how he felt about her.

"Your birthday is October eighth, your middle name is Leigh, and the first time I saw you was a Monday morning, two weeks after school started for the fall semester. I came in late to first period, and while the teacher read my excused tardy slip, I noticed you with your head down and your hair falling half over your face while you read out of the text book, which no one else in the whole room was bothering to do. When you finally looked up at the disruption I'd made to the class, our eyes met for a second before you looked away. But that was all it took for me to be hooked."

She was blown away. "You remember all that?"

He nodded once. "Your turn."

She gave him a pleading look, but granted his request. "We had sex. Are you happy now?"

He kissed her forehead. "Very. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

She grabbed his hand and started to pull him into the house. "Come on, I need to finish packing."

He protested as he followed her back toward her room. "Unless that's a poorly veiled attempt to get me into your room to take advantage of me, I want no part in this."

"I have no idea what to bring to France. You've been there, so you can help me," she reasoned.

"The less, the better," he said with an assured smile.

"I'm serious. Do I need a bathing suit or lots of nice clothes for dinners? Am I going to get to work with you, or should I bring more books to keep me company while you're busy?"

He pointed to the stack of books next to her suitcase. "More than that? They have books in France, you know."

She sat down on her bed. "I like my books."

He sat down next to her and stretched his arm behind her for stabilization as he leaned into her. "Bring whatever you like. We'll have dinner with the family every day, but it's not formal. You're welcome to hang out with me while I'm working, or relax in the house or on the grounds if you want. We'll have plenty of time together. If you're rethinking coming with me," he began.

She leaned up to kiss him. She put her hand on his thigh and turned in closer to his body. When she edged back his eyes remained closed and he instinctually leaned in toward her to retain the contact. "It's going to happen all the time like this, isn't it?"

"Like what?" he asked, still seeking her lips.

"Just a kiss will set us on a path to more, quickly."

"Is that a problem?" he asked, leaning in again to kiss her before she could answer. Her other hand went to his chest and she gripped his shirt in a tight ball, using her fist to pull him even closer to her. His lips on hers made her head feel like she was underwater and he was a source of oxygen.

His hand slipped up under her shirt and she shivered as his fingers grazed her stomach. "It's not a problem. At least, as long as we're alone."

He smiled at the detail she added and took advantage of the fact that they were very much alone to raise her shirt up a few inches. "How long do we have?"

She raked her teeth over her bottom lip and let it free before answering. "She'll be home for dinner. You should probably be gone by then if you like all your limbs."

"Trust me, I'm in no hurry to spend time with your mom," he assured her.

Rory ran a hand down the side of his face in a comforting manner. "She'll get over it. I'm sure by the time we get back from France, she'll be so deep into wedding planning that she will barely remember how badly she wants to cause you pain."

He cocked his head to the side. "She told Medina yes?"

Rory nodded. "Yeah. She told me this morning, when she came home."

"No wonder she's pissed about us, you ruined her good news with her worst nightmare," he said, only half joking.

"Actually, she didn't sound as excited as I would have thought, even before I told her about us. I mean, this is the woman that gets overly enthusiastic about snow, any and all town events, and school plays. You'd think she'd be practically floating at a time like this, but she just seems like it's news that she got, not something that she really wants to happen."

"You don't think she wants to get married?"

Rory shook her head. "She wouldn't have agreed to it if she didn't want to. She'd never be cruel like that."

He nodded. "Well, like you said, by the time we get back, she'll be planning the wedding. Maybe she's in shock, because it hasn't sunk in yet."

Rory worried her lip in earnest. "Maybe. You're probably right. And I did kind of burst her bubble with my news. While it's a huge, exciting thing to me, it isn't something she wanted to deal with, possibly ever."

He eyed her curiously. "You're not having regrets, are you?"

She shook her head, snapping out of her thoughts of concern regarding her mother. "No. Not at all. I mean, it's different, now, with us, but it's good. I can't stop thinking about you, or last night, or any of it. All I want is," she cut off, this time not needing to finish the sentence. There was a heat between them already, and her admission drew his eyes to her lips, and she had barely taken another breath before he was over her yet again. Her attempts at packing were forgotten as the suitcase was kicked off the bed by their feet.

-X-

The doorbell rang, summoning her from the attempt to tidy up her room after Tristan left for the second time that day. Her mother wasn't due home for a little while yet, but given the state of things, neither thought it best to chance a close call so soon. And one look inside Rory's room would have given her mother irrefutable proof that something had transpired—and there wasn't much chance Lorelai would buy the excuse of a freak tornado or an act of God. Rory's room was always the neatest in the whole house, but after an hour spent in the confines with Tristan things had been knocked over, tossed about, and generally ransacked.

She unlocked the door, expecting perhaps her neighbor Babette, or Joe the pizza guy courtesy of her mother calling for delivery before leaving from work. But given an unlimited number of guesses, she'd not have chosen the name of the actual person waiting on their porch.

"Grandma? What are you doing here?" Rory asked, stilled in surprise.

Emily remained stoic and perfectly poised at the improper greeting. "Rory. I was hoping you might have time to talk for a minute or two."

Rory stumbled back as she swung the door further open. "Yeah, yes. Please, come in. Mom's not home yet."

"That's all right. It was you I wished to speak to."

Rory sat on the edge of the chair as her grandmother sat equally gingerly on the sofa. She put her hand down on the next cushion, as if testing for better quality, but frowned before removing her hand. Rory's mind raced to the night before, before her night got good—before they left her grandparents' home. "If this is about my going to France," Rory began.

Emily nodded. "It is. I regret the way in which our conversation about your trip transpired. While I think travel is an important aspect of a young woman's life, I do think you're a bit young to go that far for that length of time with your boyfriend."

"Grandma, I understand you don't like it, but Mom discussed the arrangement with Janlan Dugrey. We'll be supervised, with his family the whole time."

It was a lie, but it was one that everyone seemed to realize was a lie and was accepting of that fact—it made the adults feel far better about the situation to have that particular rouse to fall back on. "That is why I wanted to speak with you. I realize in hindsight that I may have overreacted last night."

Rory's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief. It was rare for Emily to recant her feelings or offer any sort of apology. Gilmore women weren't known for their apologetic natures. "Really?"

Emily fixed her with a knowing look. "Don't look so surprised. I'm uncomfortable with the thought of you taking off all summer before we come to a resolution on the matter."

"Grandma, it's okay. I mean, I thought you liked Tristan, but I didn't expect you to jump for joy at the idea. And I won't be gone all summer. Just a few weeks."

Emily smiled sadly. "Well, a lot will change in that time. You'll have new experiences, and when you come back things will have changed here."

Things had already changed, Rory thought, but she knew change would keep happening. Change had been snowballing over the last few months to the point that in the last twenty-four hours she'd had sex twice and her mother had gotten engaged. Neither of which she could imagine her grandmother could know about. "I think everything will still be recognizable."

"Yes, well, for a while. Has your mother discussed if you'll move afterward?"

Rory frowned. "After … what?"

Emily stiffened. "The wedding."

Rory's eyes widened again, surprised Lorelai had been so forthcoming with her own mother. Her whole world had gone topsy turvy. "Oh. No. She hasn't really made many plans. It's so new… In fact, I didn't realize she'd told anyone else yet."

"Funny, it seemed I was the last to find out. Well, I should go, but we're okay?"

Rory stood up with her grandmother as a show of decorum and nodded. "Yes, of course. Please don't worry. I'll be safe with Tristan and his family."

Emily smiled sadly. "He's a fine young man, from a good family. They've had their issues, but then what family hasn't?"

Rory nodded, knowing her grandmother was feeling the weight of all their issues, though she couldn't quite put her finger on why. "Yeah. Thanks for coming all this way. I'll be at your house the first Friday night I'm back."

Emily smiled genuinely. "Lovely. Have a safe trip."

Rory closed the door, but couldn't stop thinking about how many parts of her life were changing and how quickly. After she heard her grandmother's car depart, she grabbed her own house keys and stepped out onto the porch, feeling the need to be surrounded by everything familiar to her and get a last meal with her mother that was fitting for the occasion of what might be their last night truly together as a duo.

-X-

Rory entered the front door of her house a little while later that evening, her arms full of take-out bags. She closed the door by leaning back against it until it latched, and immediately began speaking as she'd seen her mother's Jeep parked out front and she knew her voice would carry though the house.

"Al's has Chinese again! I was so excited, I got one of all our favorites, but that's okay because I figure this way you won't run out of food right away while I'm gone, and by the time this reserve runs low Luke will start dropping food off for you," she rambled as she entered the living room. The sight before her made her stop short and drop the double-paper-bagged food on the ground. "Oh my God, what happened?!"

Lorelai was seated on the edge of the couch, next to Tristan, who was half lying back with a bag of frozen mixed vegetables on his left eye.

"I couldn't find a raw steak," Lorelai explained insufficiently.

"I meant what happened to his eye," Rory said, coming around to sit on the other side of Tristan.

"My personal guess is someone hit him, but I've yet to pry," Lorelai answered.

"Tristan?"

He lifted the bag and winced before replacing it. "I think the raw meat would have felt better."

"Let me see," Rory instructed, urging him to lift the bag again.

"It's not that bad," he said without moving the bag.

"Let me see," she demanded again.

Tristan glanced from his girlfriend to his girlfriend's mother. Lorelai shrugged. "I'd listen to her. She's not known for letting things go easily. You might have noticed."

He let out a resigned sigh and lowered the bag. Lorelai winced and Rory gasped audibly. "Tristan, what happened?"

Lorelai stiffened as he replaced the bag for the relief. "I went home this afternoon and my brother was there. We had some words, and it didn't go well."

Lorelai stood up. "I'll be right back."

Rory scooted in closer and put her hand on his knee. "Did you call your grandfather?"

"Rory, it's no big deal. I know you don't have siblings, but brothers fight."

"Siblings bicker, they don't bruise each other's eyes."

"He didn't do this. We just bickered, as I believe you put it."

Rory didn't believe he was giving her the whole story. "And you what, just happened to walk into a door during the argument?"

"No. My father came home and decided to end the argument for us. Guess whose side he was on?"

Rory felt suddenly cold. "Your dad did that?"

He didn't answer right away. When he spoke, it was slow and measured. "It was an argument. I told you things at my father's house aren't optimal."

Her mouth gaped open. "This isn't 'not optimal.' This is unsafe. You can't go back there."

"He'll cool off by the time I get back from France."

"That's what you're counting on? What if he feels the need to express his opinion again before you leave?"

Tristan shook his head stiffly. "He won't."

"He already hit you," Rory said, unable to let the subject drop.

They sat in uneasy silence until Lorelai came back in with the cordless phone in her hand. "Not to interrupt, but as the adult here," she said authoritatively, "you're staying here tonight."

Tristan and Rory both looked to her in surprise, him with only one eye visible. "Thanks, but that's not necessary."

"I just got off the phone with your grandfather, and we both feel it's best if you stay here while he handles things in Hartford."

He opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but the one person he never really argued with was his grandfather. If the decree was being handed down from him, it wasn't something he would fight.

"Does this couch get more comfortable the longer you sit on it?" he asked hopefully.

Lorelai smiled tightly. "Not at all. But I was thinking you could sleep in Rory's room, and she could bunk with me."

"I wouldn't turn that deal," he said appreciatively.

"Well, normally I condemn any male guests to our very uncomfortable couch to impede long stays or the desire for repeats. But in your case, given the fact you're injured, well, I'm not made of stone. And Rory and I have bunked together enough in the past that we barely notice the other."

"You barely notice me because you're the one that hogs all the covers and has the ability to sleep through natural disasters. I notice you plenty as I struggle to reclaim a corner of bed sheet and get warm enough to fall back asleep."

Lorelai waved a dismissive hand at her daughter. "She tends to overdramatize things. I'm going to go see if I can find a fresh bag of vegetables for your eye. But prepare yourself, it's likely going to have to be a bag of tater tots."

"Thank you," he said succinctly as she turned and retreated back to the kitchen.

"It would appear that she doesn't want to kill you after all. She's never displaced me from my bed for anyone else before," Rory impressed upon him.

"It's just because of my eye. I hear some mothers have actual maternal instincts."

She put her hands in her lap and stared down at them. "I'm sorry. I feel like I should have realized just how bad things were for you at home."

"This is an extreme situation," he assured her.

"But not the first time?" she guessed.

"It's not like I can't take care of myself. I got in a good hit too."

"That's no excuse for what he did. You're a kid, Tristan, and he's an adult."

"I'm not excusing him. I just don't want you to look at me like some kind of victim. Shit happens. Why do you think I was considering moving to France, given the opportunity? If it wasn't for you," he led but stopped short at the look of fresh horror on her face.

"You'd already be gone. This wouldn't have happened to you," she pieced together.

He held his tongue against the corner of his mouth. "I'm glad I stayed."

She stood up. "I should go take the food into the kitchen, it'll get cold. Are you hungry?"

"Rory," he said, taking the bag off his eye to look at her properly, though with difficulty through his sore eye.

"You should keep that on," she instructed, numb to everything but her realization.

"If you're upset, we should talk."

She shook her head and willed tears to stay at bay. "We're not going to agree about this. All I can do is make sure you're okay now. If you're hungry, we should eat. And when you're tired, I'll make sure my room's ready for you. And I think you should stay in France instead of coming back here in the fall, because that's what is best for you."

"We've been over this," he said wearily.

"No!" she exclaimed, pointing a finger at him in an accusatory manner. "We talked, but I didn't have all the information. I don't want you living in that situation just so we can date."

"Just because it's new information to you doesn't mean it changes the situation at all. If you won't want to be with me anymore, that's one thing. But I don't want him to get to make these choices for me. I'm not going to let him bully me. This changes nothing," he said adamantly.

She stood still, confused by the emotion swirling in her mind and body. She stared at him in frustration and couldn't bring herself to exit the room.

"Do you still want to be with me?" he asked blatantly.

"Yes!" she said, hating that she couldn't lie for his protection. "But," she tried to add.

"No buts. I'll stay here tonight, we'll leave on Monday, and things will work themselves out. I'll be eighteen eventually, and then he'll have no say in my life."

"I hate him. I've never met your father, but I hate him," she admitted in a burst of more emotion.

He stood up and put his arms around her back. "Thank you."

"I feel guilty, for keeping you in this position."

He pressed his cheek into her hair. "Then sneak down and tuck me in later," he murmured playfully.

"She's not that heavy of a sleeper. She'll notice if I leave."

"Then just leave me one of your shirts to sleep with," he offered.

She leaned back and touched his bruised skin gingerly. "Does it hurt a lot?"

He shirked back slightly. "I could use some aspirin."

She nodded briefly. "Sit. I'll bring you some, with some dinner. We'll eat in here and you can pick the movie."

He smiled at her offering. "I did not expect such an honor to be bestowed to me in this house, especially today."

She smiled. "Don't get used to it. Besides, you still have to get your choice of film past my mother. Her kindness only reaches so far, even with a busted-up face."

He put the half-thawed bag back on his face. "The shiner just adds to my rugged good looks, don't you think?"

She patted his shoulder as she went to exit the room. "At least your ego hasn't been damaged."

He didn't offer a comeback, so she took the bags into the kitchen where her mother stood, leaning against the counter and not making any attempt to hide the fact that she had solely been waiting on Rory to come into the room.

"How is he?"

Rory put the bags down and crossed her arms over her chest. "I have no idea. I can't imagine he's okay. Who would be?"

Lorelai nodded in sympathy. "I hope it's okay with you that he stays. And that you and I are bunking together."

"I was surprised. I didn't think you'd let him in the house."

Lorelai stepped to Rory. "He looked like he needed a safe place. Honey, the situation he's in," she began gently.

"It's awful. His father is awful," she said, her ire up again.

"Yes, but this is serious. I'm happy to give him refuge tonight, but I don't want you near any of that."

Rory blew out a breath and nodded. "Thankfully we'll be in France next week."

Lorelai paused and stepped closer to her daughter. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Rory's eyes hardened. "You're not going to let me go?"

"How can I?" her mother asked honestly.

Disbelief struck her for what seemed like the millionth time that day. "You said I could go. Everything's arranged, my ticket has been bought."

"That was before. Honey, when I called Janlan tonight, he was very clear with me that this wasn't the first instance and the police will be involved."

"His father won't be in France," Rory argued.

"How do you know? It's not like he doesn't have access to planes or his family's estate."

Rory closed her eyes. "Is this because of the sex thing?"

"No, this is about your safety."

"Unbelievable," Rory muttered as she turned on her heel and made a beeline for her room. Lorelai followed and stood in the doorway.

"I'm sorry you're upset, but this is how it's got to be. Do you want me to tell him for you?"

Rory turned and shot her mother a look to assess her mental health. "No, I don't want you to tell him. This was all we had left, and just like that it's over, gone."

Lorelai frowned in confusion. "What?"

Rory sank onto her bed. "He can't come back here. He needs to stay in France. He wants to come back for me, but I'm not going to let him. I was going to call things off before I left, for his own good, so he'd stay there and not come back. But if I have to stay, then I guess I have less time with him. About two days, to be exact."

Lorelai's face fell. "Oh, Honey. I'm sorry."

Rory turned away. "I'm going to get some stuff together, and get the room ready for him."

Lorelai watched her daughter sadly for a beat. "I'll leave you alone. We can talk later?"

Rory nodded, wholly numb. "Yeah. Okay."

She knew she wouldn't feel like talking, not in a few hours or in a few weeks. Everything was wrong, and there was nothing she could do to make anything right, let alone fair. She had pulled a pair of pajamas out and put an extra blanket over the bed, and was just opening her dresser drawer when Tristan walked in, with a single knock to the wall as he entered, not waiting on her permission to join her.

"Hey."

She offered him a weak smile. "Hey. I was just getting you a shirt to sleep with."

He walked over to her and eased the drawer shut. "How about the one you're wearing? It'll smell the most like you."

"Whatever you like."

He slid an arm around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. "I'd like you. I'm settling for the shirt."

She closed her eyes. Her heart hurt, for what he'd been through and for what she knew she was going to do in the much-too-soon future. "How's your eye?"

He didn't move from his perch. "It's been better. Did you and your mom have another fight?"

Tears welled up in her eyes, but none fell immediately. "We had a discussion."

She turned slowly, but he kept his hands at her waist. He was the one who was hurt, and yet he was a reassuring force for her. "She doesn't think it's safe for me to be with your family right now."

He nodded, not happy but certainly seeming to understand. "I agree with her."

She gaped at him. "What?"

"I'd never let anything happen to you, but it's a volatile situation right now. I can't argue with her, if that's how she feels. She loves you, and so do I."

"I'm not the one that needs protection. You are."

"I'm fine."

"Look in the mirror, Tristan, you're not fine," she argued, gesturing to her mirror. He did as she asked, and he met her gaze in the reflective surface sheepishly.

"I'm with you, I'll be fine," he reiterated.

She turned back to face him. "I wish I could stay with you."

He kissed her softly. "Me too."

Tears finally breached her eyelids and spilled down her cheeks. His embrace tightened.

"Hey, it's okay."

She shook her head with her eyes closed. "Is it?"

There was a separate knock to her doorframe, the familiar sound of her mother's fist lightly announcing her presence. Lorelai had averted her eyes from the melancholy couple caught in an embrace. "Not to interrupt, but Tristan, your grandfather's here."

Rory looked up into his concerned eyes and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. "You should go talk to him."

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. Go," she urged.

He slipped away from the women and Rory made eye contact with her mother. It was no secret between them that Rory was most definitely not fine.

"Hungry?" Lorelai asked.

Rory shook her head. "Not really."

"You didn't end things, did you?" Lorelai asked.

"No, I didn't. I should have, but I couldn't," Rory said, upset with herself. "I'm not sure if I'll be able to at all."

Lorelai held out an arm. "I wish I could tell you that just because the two of you are in love that everything will work out. I think that only happens in fairy tales, but if anyone deserves a nice fairytale ending, it's you."

"Thanks, Mom. That means a lot," Rory managed.

"Come on. We need egg rolls," Lorelai decreed.

"I'll be right in. I'm just going to change."

Lorelai shut the bedroom door and Rory pulled the drawer open again, choosing a fresh t-shirt off the top of the pile. She peeled her worn shirt off and tucked it under her pillow before pulling the clean shirt over her head. She turned on her bedside lamp and patted the made bed. She hoped he'd be as comfortable in her room as she always was. She wanted to believe that things would work out for the best, but she knew better than to believe that the best for him would coincide with her own wishes. When it came down to it, she hoped she could have the courage to do right by him. She owed it to him—she'd always believed the axiom that if you loved something, you should set it free. She just never thought she'd be forced with having to put it into practice. He wouldn't be easy to let go of.


	18. Chapter 18

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

Rory climbed under the covers and molded her body to the warm form already occupying the small space of her bed. Her cooler skin caused Tristan to stir, but instead of retracting from the jarring temperature difference, he pulled her in closer to him.

"Is this a stolen moment?" he asked quietly.

"Not a proper one. Mom had an early morning staff meeting. We're alone," she confided. "Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough. You?"

She silently shook her head. He pressed his lips against her cheek in response. She curled up into him and closed her eyes. She didn't want to sleep now that they had a clock looming over their time together. She'd stay awake the whole time if it meant she got a little more time with him.

"I want to come with you," she said softly into his chest.

He let out a breath. "Me too, but," he began. He stopped short, not wanting to give credence to anything that would serve to separate them. "It is what it is. It's not forever."

It would feel like forever. Her silence was serving as a buffer, but she knew she had to let him in on the reality of her situation sooner or later. What was best for him had to take precedence over what was best for her, at least for now. Her summer would involve her mother trying to cheer her up and letting her help plan the wedding, but all Rory would remember was how much she missed Tristan and the fact that he wouldn't be her date to the wedding or any other event. He'd be in France, safe and probably moving on. The thought made her stomach roll.

"It's just not going to be easy," she managed.

"I know. But we'll figure something out, a way to make it more bearable."

"Tristan," she began haltingly.

"We can talk later," he shushed her, before dragging his lips across hers. The movement sent shivers up her spine and down to her core. He lowered himself down over her, and she sank onto her back to accommodate the shift in position. Her hand skimmed down his chest until she found that he wore only boxers to bed. Suddenly she found herself overheating in a state of overdress.

Before she met him, she would have put reason before the basic need to touch him. She needed to know what his grandfather had said to him the night before and she needed to know where they would stand after that day. But before she heard the news that would possibly seal their fate, she wanted to be with him one more time with as much ignorance in regard to their time left together as possible. She didn't want it to feel like the last time, even if that's what it was. She wanted to get lost in him, enjoy every last achingly good second they spent in her bed. Reality would come soon enough. She just hoped her priorities were ones she'd look back on without regret.

His face was as close to hers without touching as it could be. His breath tickled the peach fuzz on her cheek. She shivered in his arms as they stilled momentarily. "Are you okay?"

She nodded and smiled, despite the rush of other emotions coursing through her. She was with him and solely due to that, she was happy. "I'm just trying to stay in the moment," she answered honestly. She knew he understood the mixed bag of emotions she was juggling at the moment. He was as mired in them as she.

"Let me help you," he offered as his body began to move against hers again. She gave a soft moan, wrapped her hands around his shoulders, and let him melt all her worries away.

-X-

Lorelai eyed Rory across the table at Luke's Diner. She chewed her last bite of burger and set it down on her plate. "Aren't you going to eat anything? Is the burger okay? I'm happy to send it back and give Luke a hard time. I haven't made smoke come out of his ears in at least a week."

Rory shook her head and pushed her plate away. "Not hungry, I guess."

Lorelai frowned and leaned forward on her elbows. "Did you talk to him about what happens after he leaves?"

Rory slumped down in her chair. "He kept changing the subject, or cutting me off and saying that things would work out. I know he's not an eternal optimist, and he was just dodging my attempts."

"Maybe he's smarter than I give him credit for and he was trying to make sure you didn't break up with him before he could leave. And it's possible that he's optimistic about you, if nothing else."

Rory recoiled in surprise. "You're rooting for him?"

"I don't know, I mean, clearly I'm not his biggest fan, but he makes you happy and he is getting a really raw deal at home. I'm not made of stone," Lorelai explained.

"I don't know what's wrong with me. I should have just ended things and let it be clear cut and simple. But every time I even thought of starting the conversation, I got this terrible pain in my stomach."

"Oh, Honey," Lorelai sighed, sad for her daughter who was clearly in the throes of heartache.

Rory looked down at her untouched plate. "You're thinking that you raised me to be smarter than this."

Lorelai shook her head. "No, I was thinking that I'm proud of you and glad that I raised a kid with such a good heart. I can't be upset at you for being in love."

Rory met her mother's eyes. "Grandma was upset at you for being in love."

Lorelai shrugged at the comparison. "That's a whole other kettle of fish. I was pregnant. Grandma was actually pleased as punch at the match before we selected that faulty condom."

"Did she know you were having sex?" Rory asked quietly.

Lorelai's eyes widened. "That's open to interpretation. I think she assumed, even though her arduous attempts at snooping didn't reveal much. I kept my tracks pretty well covered, until I started to show, anyhow."

"You didn't tell her?"

"Not until way after the fact. Even then, she just brought in a host of clergymen to try to set me straight and make sure I'd seen the error of my ways as if having a child wasn't a big enough crimp to my normal teenage hijinks."

"Thank you for not snooping, and for not freaking out when I told you. You were great last night, with him, and calming me down."

"That's my one goal in life, to not react like my mother. And I'm glad you both feel you can come to me with stuff. I want our lines of communication to remain open. When you took refuge at my parent's house, I was afraid that part of what we had might have been lost. It's okay for you to want your own stuff, and your space, but it would kill me if I thought you ever felt like you had to hide things."

Rory smiled, despite her saddened state. "I'd say I'm about as transparent as I can possibly be at this point."

"Good. So, how about we pack these burgers up and take them home? I think we need movies, and last time I asked Luke to set up a TV down here, he brought down this tiny toy-looking monitor that only projected fuzzy images in black-and-white."

Rory shook her head with a slight chuckle. "At least the man tries to cater to your whims. He should be given credit for that."

Lorelai's focus turned behind her daughter, no doubt to the counter. She seemed lost in thought. "He should indeed."

-X-

Rory took phone and door duty that evening as she and her mother curled up on the couch under blankets with a host of dessert snacks and the remote. Though both women were equally likely to be the subject of either kind of caller, Rory was acutely aware that her time on the same continent with her boyfriend was declining and there was a big part of her that was hopeful he'd make extra time to see her via an unannounced visit.

When the doorbell rang, Lorelai offered an anticipatory grin and Rory hopped off the couch and made for the door. She opened it, fully expecting to see Tristan, but instead was confronted with another Dugrey man.

"Oh, hi. Um, Tristan's not here," she said with a hint of a frown.

Janlan nodded. "I know. May I come in?"

Rory stepped back and gestured for him to enter the home. Lorelai had extracted herself from under the blankets and came into the foyer to greet their guest.

"Mr. Dugrey, nice to see you again."

"Miss Gilmore. Is it all right with you if I speak with Rory for a moment?"

Lorelai patted Rory on the shoulder. "Sure. Use the living room. Can I get you anything to drink?"

Janlan shook his head. "No thank you. I won't be long."

Rory moved in to sit on the couch as Janlan too rest on their arm chair. "Is Tristan okay? Did something else happen?"

"He's fine. Well, that's not true. He's not really been himself lately, especially since it was decided you should stay stateside during his trip."

"It wasn't my decision, it was my mother's, and I'm afraid her mind isn't easily changed," she informed him woefully.

He held up a hand. "I agree with her decision, it's the only choice she has, really. All children should have parents who look out for their best interests. Tristan hasn't had that kind of luxury in his life."

Rory nodded. "But he has you."

Janlan folded his hands in his lap. "And to that end, there will be some restructuring and things will take some time to work out, but I'm intent on seeing them through, for his sake. Forgive me if this sounds out of my reach, but he confided in me that you were thinking of ending things, to make his transition out of his current situation more clear cut."

Her mouth opened to explain herself, but she sealed her lips shut promptly and nodded for him to continue.

"I would like to ask you to let me worry about that. It's not a burden I would like to put on either of you, at least, if that was your only reason for thinking of ending the relationship."

"It was."

"I know it's hard, the situation the two of you find yourselves in. But if you can have a little patience, with him and with me, I believe we can find a resolution that avoids you breaking his heart."

"I don't want that, I just can't stand the thought of him living with his parents," she said with quiet resolve.

"I should have done something before now. There have been incidents in the past, things I let slide because I feel a man should deal with family issues on his own. My son is not doing as such and I can't stand by any further, now it falls to me."

"Does that mean… are you still leaving tomorrow?"

"Yes, our departure will remain the same. Like I said, this will take some time to sort out, but legal issues being what they are, our return will be sooner rather than later. If he wants to come back to finish out his schooling, then I'll make that happen. I just wanted to avoid any other unnecessary pain in regard to the two of you."

Rory nodded. "I understand. Thank you."

Janlan rose. "I should go."

Rory stood up to see him out. "I know your flight is tomorrow, but is there any way," she led.

He paused as the front door and smiled at her. "I'll send him around in the morning, before we head to the airport."

She smiled, relief filling her. "Thank you. Again, for everything. For looking out for him, most of all."

He gave a brief nod and then took his leave. Rory shut the door and wandered back into the kitchen, where her mother was standing at the counter, eating a popsicle and reading a magazine. She glanced up at Rory's entrance.

"Everything okay?"

Rory crossed to the freezer and pulled out a popsicle. She unwrapped it and took a small bite. "I think so."

"What did he say?"

Rory took another bite. "He didn't want me to give up on Tristan."

"I don't think that was ever in doubt," Lorelai scoffed.

"If I could have, I would have," Rory said seriously.

"I know you want to do the right thing, all the time, but the moment your heart gets involved things get complicated," Lorelai reasoned.

"It doesn't have to be that way. You and Max worked things out because you were in love, right?"

Lorelai sputtered. "You mean other than him being your teacher and us living in separate towns and the fact I have a kid to add to the mix? Yeah, it's totally uncomplicated other than that."

"But it worked out, eventually. You overcame all that."

Lorelai took a bite of her popsicle, finishing it off. "What exactly did Janlan say to you?"

Rory let the total change of subject slide. "He said that he was going to look out for Tristan because his parents aren't going to. He said that if Tristan wants to come back here to finish high school, he'll make sure that happens."

"So he's staying?"

"No, they still leave tomorrow."

"But they'll be back by the end of summer or before?"

"He didn't say."

Lorelai's eyebrows rose knowingly. "Honey, I realize he gave you hope, but if he's trying to protect Tristan, that doesn't mean he's going to do what's best for you, too."

"What does that mean?"

"That means he didn't make a promise to you, and Tristan hasn't made any promises to you. Has he?"

Rory tensed up. "What kind of promises?"

"You're young. It is not reasonable to believe that you'll be with him in two years' time, and the eventuality that you end up marrying him is slim to none."

"I really don't want to have this conversation," Rory said, throwing a road block into their chat.

"I thought you said we were fine, and that we could talk openly."

"We can, but I just got a sliver of hope about my relationship, which you said you were good with, and yet you're undercutting it the first chance you get."

"I'm not. You've been lamenting about how you don't like the fact that you're not being rational about things when it comes to him. I'm trying to help you."

"Well, it doesn't feel helpful. It feels smothering."

"You did not just say that," Lorelai said, putting her hand up. "I've been nothing but supportive, even though I had to bite my tongue about your judgment in having sex with him."

"It was my decision, not yours," she tossed back angrily.

"You let your emotions get the better of you. He's about to leave the country, God knows when he's coming back, and what if he decides life in France is better for him? You can't get your virginity back. It's gone, and for a guy that is on a plane tomorrow."

"You talk about him like I don't know him. He was there for me when I needed someone, and I will do the same for him."

"Having sex is being there for him? How did he get you to buy that line?"

Rory balled her hands into fists at her sides. "It was nothing like that. I had sex with him because I wanted to, not because he wanted to."

"Please do not try to tell me he didn't want to," Lorelai laughed harshly.

"He loves me. He's coming back from France, for me. I'm not going to stand here and let you pick on him when he's not even here to defend himself. And he shouldn't have to. He's been through enough without having to deal with the fact that you aren't ready for me to grow up."

"I just think you have no idea what you're getting yourself into, what you're signing up for. You're going to get hurt, whether he does it intentionally or not," Lorelai said, her voice pleading for her daughter to understand.

"Then I guess I'll take that risk," Rory said, heading to her room.

"Are you going to bed?" Lorelai asked as Rory started to shut her door.

"Sure. I have nothing else to say to you right now anyway," Rory said, her hurt apparent through her stony exterior.

"I have to work early. If you need anything," Lorelai began.

"I can take care of myself. Goodnight."

Rory closed the door and took a deep breath. She picked up the cordless phone from her desk and dialed quickly. "Hey. I need some fresh air. Can you come over?"

-X-

They walked along in companionable silence. It wasn't a first for them, and she hoped it wouldn't be their last. He slipped her hand into his as they continued toward a patch of trees, illuminated only by the spring moon. "We could have taken a drive."

"I like walking."

"Fair enough. Are you going to tell me what happened?"

Rory turned to assess him. He looked different in the moonlight, younger somehow. His black eye was less noticeable and he was wearing street clothes that might have made him blend in with a crowd had there been anyone else near them. Though even in his uniform, which was identical to the one all the other boys at school wore, he always stood out to her. "Your grandfather stopped by."

"When, tonight?"

She nodded. "I… thought about it a lot, you know. Ending things between us. It makes the most sense."

"Rory," he began in protest.

"I can't do it," she supplied to relieve his mind. "If I could, I would have by now. It's too late."

"Good, I'm glad we agree," he said smoothly, but quick enough to show he was ready for the conversation to wrap.

"Is it good?" she questioned just as quickly.

"Yes."

"Why won't you admit that just because it's what you want, that doesn't make it the best option?" she asked, her frustration breaching its limit.

"There's no such thing as a perfect world. The list of things I don't like about my life, the things I'd change, it might as well be part of my DNA. I've learned to live around it. I can deal with all of that. What I don't want to deal with is losing you because of any of that. That necessitates a change."

She stopped and looked around the empty space that comprised her sleepy little town at night. They were off the beaten path, but not by much. Stores had long-since closed for the evening and people were at home, either asleep or heading that way. So much was taken for granted in the safe hamlet. She knew no life was perfect, even the ones like hers that appeared that way on the surface. She once thought his only problem was boredom, long ago when she'd only really taken note of him from the periphery of her world.

"What kind of change? Your grandfather was kind of light on specifics."

"He's going to assume guardianship of me."

"But how? Will your parents even agree to that?"

He paused, lost in thought for a moment. "He has the means to convince them not to fight it."

"Money?" she asked knowingly.

"If it comes to that, but he has other tricks up his sleeve."

"Do I want to know?" she asked, her increasing concern weighing on her words.

"It doesn't matter. It's only for a few months anyhow. Then I'm eighteen and it's over."

"Will it ever be over? You're supposed to learn the family business and inherit an entire section of France!"

"It's acreage, not a province," he downplayed.

"It's your life. And it's not going to magically disappear," she said.

"But then I'll have a say, I'll have options."

A breath left her, like a hit to the chest. "I'm an option?"

He pulled her in against him. "I didn't mean it like that. Look, I know your mom doesn't want you near my family or away from her, and I know it might not be easy, but we don't have to live according to anyone else's rules once we're eighteen."

"I can't make a decision now about what I will want in two years. I have to make decisions based on what's happening now."

"So what do you want to happen now?" he pressed.

"I don't know. I don't really want to go home. You leave in the morning and my mom is just being so impossible."

"I can take you anywhere you want to go," he offered.

She held up her hand, frustrated by the way her head kept whirling with the mounting drama of every single decision she had to make. It all seemed too much, each contrasting choice, and each direction she was offered pulled her too far. Everything was tied to her future and her loyalties, and she just wanted to make a decision that wasn't a matter of life or death—be it literal or existential.

"I just want to go out with my boyfriend, without having to choose between him or my mother or what country I'm going to go to college in. I want to get ice cream and hold hands in a movie theater. I want normal, that's all," she exclaimed, all her pent-up energy coming out with her words.

He nodded and put his hand on the back of her head. He pulled her in gently, until she was resting face-first in his chest. "I get it."

She leaned back and stared up at him. "Do you?"

He bent down to kiss her softly. "Yeah."

"It isn't that I don't want ask you to take me with you, away from fighting with my mom without a thought as to what that would do to her. But I did that, you know, when I took off to my grandparents, and no matter how tense things get, it doesn't help. Running away does no good, tempting as it is," she said, ending with a smile.

"So we can't run away together, and get married in some backward state that allows sixteen year olds to make terrible decisions without parental permission?"

"I think I'll pass," she agreed amicably.

He dipped his head again, brushing his lips over her forehead. "I didn't plan to make things more complicated for you. That isn't what I wanted at all."

She looked up at him thoughtfully. "What did you want?"

"Ironically, not to screw up the shot you finally gave me."

She put her hand over his heart, which he covered with his. "Walk me home?"

He smiled at her. "I'll even give you a boost back up into your window, so you don't alert the whole neighborhood that you're sneaking back in."

Their hands remained linked as they dropped between them and they began the walk back to her house. "See? Sneaking out is a totally normal teenage thing to do."

"Trust me, I wish all I was doing was getting you into normal teenage trouble. It's kind of my specialty."

If that was her one shot at a normal date with him, it would have to be enough for now. She only hoped that she wouldn't have to wait too long to get another chance to be with him at the risk of angering her mother in favor of getting into trouble with him. He'd been worth the risk so far, and she was in way too deep to turn back now.


	19. Chapter 19

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

Lorelai came into Rory's room early the next morning, walking with a determined pace that suggested she was on a mission. Rory had been up for a while, finding it hard to sleep knowing that Tristan was boarding a plane too soon for her liking, and was attempting to read a book.

"Good, you're up."

Rory yawned. "I'm in bed, not up. I was actually considering going back to sleep."

Lorelai pulled clothes from her closet and tossed them on the end of the bed, beaming at her daughter. "Consider getting dressed."

Rory sulked, sinking back down into her pillow. "I don't have anywhere to go, remember?"

"Come to work with me. Nothing is more fun than distracting Michel from his duties. And you know how he especially hates it when we tag team him."

Rory didn't jump at the offer. "I should probably call Chilton again to see if there's room in any of the classes I'd wanted to take for the first summer session. I'm on the waiting lists, and Grandma said she'd bug the headmaster's wife, but calling can't hurt."

"That's your big plan for the day? Stay home in pajamas and call Chilton?"

Rory crossed her arms. "Well, I was going to be on a plane, but my plans got cancelled."

Lorelai did appear somewhat remorseful at the attempt of laying blame. "If there was any part of me that could have let you go, you know I would have."

Rory shrugged, knowing it was the truth. "Yeah, I know. I just miss him already."

"He isn't coming by this morning? When does his plane take off?"

Rory could hear the conversation from the night before in her mind like a recording, the words swimming through her memory. "We decided it would be better to just say goodbye last night. It was going to be too hard to watch him go, and he said if he came over he wouldn't want to leave without me."

"That settles it. I can't leave you home alone today. Come to work with me. If you're really in a bad way, I'll put you in the kitchen and you can call Chilton from Sookie's desk and I'll have her make you that cake with the layers that you love."

Rory did perk up, if slightly. "You'd do that?"

Lorelai nodded and put a hand on her hip. "Yeah, well, I think if there's an occasion for that cake, it's having your boyfriend fly to France without you. Hey, you know if it doesn't already have a name, that should be it."

"My Boyfriend Flew to France cake?" Rory asked skeptically.

"It's better than The Cake with the Layers that Rory Likes, which is how I currently refer to it," Lorelai pointed out.

"I'm going to agree, but that doesn't make it okay."

"Just get dressed. I'll do my best to provide you with distractions until I'm done, and then we'll hit Jo-Jos and go the Black, White, and Read, then we'll top off our evening at Luke's, for pie and milkshakes."

"That's quite the exercise in gluttony. Luke said he'd never serve you pie and milkshakes together at night again, because you went into the bathroom and tried to toilet-paper his diner the last time."

"The man doesn't understand sugar rushes. But he will cave if I tell him that _you_ need them because you're sad. And he can't serve you without serving me."

"I don't want pity pie, nor do I want to serve as a loophole to your madness. Besides, don't you and Max have a date tonight?"

Lorelai waved her hand dismissively. "I'll cancel. He won't mind. Your mental health comes before my night out with Max. And there's no way Luke will serve me milkshakes and pie if I show up with Max. I'm not sure Luke likes Max all that much."

"You can't cancel on Max because of me or milkshakes. He's your fiancé, and he'll not enjoy coming in third under milkshakes."

"Have I not made it clear that the milkshakes are for you? I'm just being supportive, and not letting you drink alone. Drinking alone is sad and a sign of addictive behavior."

"Milkshakes aren't what I need."

"What do you need?" Lorelai asked, ready to give in to most requests.

Rory sighed. "Tristan."

Lorelai clapped her hands. "Alright, that's it. I am willing to coddle you a little, but today is not that day. Get up, get dressed, and be in the Jeep in ten minutes. You can reorganize my files, because they need it and you're obsessive in a way few people are, and I need you. No one can be sad while alphabetizing, or at least, I don't think you can."

Rory got out of bed and picked up the shirt her mother had selected randomly. "I don't blame you, you know that right?"

Lorelai let out a breath. "I know, but it's good to hear. Get dressed. I'll make coffee."

Rory nodded and waited until her mother gave her some privacy before finally taking off her pajamas and getting ready to face her first day without Tristan. She hadn't known what that would look like—she still wasn't sure she wanted to find out—but at least it would involve cake.

-X-

Max sat on the couch, awkwardly waiting for Lorelai to come down. "Are you sure she's up for this?"

Rory kept her arms crossed over her chest as if to shield herself for the uncomfortable wait, but nodded assuredly. "She was just afraid to leave me alone. But I'm a big girl and I know how to use the remote better than she does. I'll be fine."

Max gave her a waning smile. "So he left today, huh?"

Rory nodded. "Yeah. He'll be back for school, though."

"You and your mother can keep each other company this summer then," he said in a hopefully upbeat tone.

Rory gazed at him quizzically. "I already told her, I'm fine. I don't need her to put off her plans to cheer me up."

He returned her confused expression. "Didn't she tell you? I'm leaving this week to teach at Stamford for the summer quarter."

"She didn't mention it."

"Well, it's not a big deal, just a few weeks. I'll be back for the fall semester, and the wedding, of course."

Rory sat in stunned surprise. "You set a date?"

Max hesitated warily. "I get the feeling your mother has been unusually mum about me of late."

Rory felt badly that she was putting him in a tight spot. "You know, with all this stuff with Tristan leaving, she has this tendency to not want to flaunt her happy news when people she loves are upset. She has this whole analogy about the emotional turmoil of her middle school social scene," Rory explained insufficiently.

Max glanced anxiously at the empty staircase. "I'm sure that's what it is."

Rory nodded. "Me too. Really. She's really excited about the wedding. I've caught her sneaking wedding magazines in her bag. She doesn't want to come off as a cliché, but she's definitely happy about this."

Max relaxed. "Really?"

"Yeah," Rory said with a smile.

Lorelai descended in a blaze of energy, still pulling on a boot. "Okay, now if you get hungry, there's money on the table, if you get bored, I have that _Behind the Music_ marathon on tape in the player, and if you get lonely, call me."

Rory stood up and shook her head. "I'll be fine. If I get lonely, I'll read a book. Besides, Tristan might call when he lands, if he remembers and isn't too tired."

Lorelai smiled and put her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "He'll remember."

Rory smiled before shooing her mother off. "Go have fun. You're engaged, act like it. Go make some random people uncomfortable with your happiness."

Max shook his head at her instruction, but Lorelai stopped to check one more time that her daughter was not on the verge of some emotional cliff. "You're sure?"

Rory rolled her eyes. "Go. My boyfriend is in a different country, but he's still my boyfriend. I'm really okay."

Lorelai conceded to believe her, if haltingly. "Okay. I have my cell. Neither of us will mind having to come back if you need anything—no matter how small. Even if it's just a light bulb goes out or you desperately need a Mallomar."

Rory frowned. "If a light bulb goes out, I'll call Luke. If I need a Mallomar, I'll get into your nightstand."

Max's face brightened in amusement. "Your nightstand? Is that what you keep in there?"

Lorelai turned to Max, doing her best to mask her true reaction. "She's kidding. Let's go, shall we?"

He didn't buy it, but allowed her to lead him out the door. "Do I at least get to make a 'how many Lorelais does it take to change a light bulb' joke?"

"Not if you ever want to see what is in my nightstand, mister," she said as she shut the door behind them, leaving Rory alone for the first time in a while. She stood in the living room, letting the silence and the solitude sink in. Her solace came in the fact that she knew Tristan would not have gone if there had been a way around any of it, not without her. He'd call once he was able, and until then she'd keep busy. She had plenty of things to do that did not revolve around missing her boyfriend. She just needed to choose one and get to it.

She collected the money meant for her dinner and shoved it into her pocket for later use. It was still light enough out for a walk, but she wasn't in the mood. She had obtained a copy of the reading list for the class she was hoping to get into by week's end at Chilton for French literature, and decided that might be her best bet as she pulled the first book she'd taken out of the library and made her way to settle in on her bed. She'd just cracked the spine on _The Elegance of the Hedgehog _when there came a knock at her front door. She placed the book down gingerly on its face so as to keep her place and walked quickly back to the front door, assuming her mother had either placed a food order on her behalf to be sure she ate or that it was her mother herself, unable to hold back from making sure her departure was allowable that night.

She had not even considered that she might open the door to find her boyfriend, very much not in France, on her front porch. She stared at him in wonder and disbelief. "Am I dreaming?"

He smiled. "I could pinch you, if you like," he offered.

"It is you," she said as she stepped forward and pasted herself to his form. His arms slipped around her in kind, and they stood there hugging until she was satisfied that she was definitely not dreaming the feel of his warmth against her. "Did something happen?"

He didn't have time to answer, because her mind filled with instant worry and she peppered questions at him. "Are you okay? Did your flight get delayed?"

He put a finger to her lips, stilled at first and then he slid it to the side, tracing the outline of her mouth. "You said you wanted a boyfriend that picked you up and took you for ice cream and held your hand in a movie theater. Now, this town doesn't have a lot in the way of amenities, but it can manage all of that."

She couldn't quite wrap her mind around what he was saying. "You're here to pick me up for a date?"

He nodded. "If that's still what you want. I know women are prone to changing their minds, but keep in mind I did go through quite an effort to make this one happen."

She couldn't help but gape at him. "I just wanted you to be here."

His eyes remained on her, as she continued to try to grasp the fact that he was really there. "Your wish has been granted."

"But how? And for how long?"

He shook his head. "Just for tonight, you and I are going to be any other couple. Ones that don't worry about college plans and trips to France or my fucked up family. Okay?"

"O-okay." She wanted to know more, but she didn't have it in her to fight whatever had brought him to be on her porch to pick her up for a date. After all they'd been through and what might still lie ahead of them, she wanted for her wish of normalcy to really come through for once. She looked up at him hopefully. "Can I ask one more thing?"

He ran his bottom lip through his teeth as he considered her question. "Go on, you know you want to."

"Do we have time before the movie?"

He smiled knowingly. "For ice cream?"

She shook her head and pushed up on her toes. Her arms circled behind his neck with a practiced grace. He let her meet his lips first, but he did not hold back in returning the kiss. His fingers splayed out to cover her low back, and his other hand cupped her jaw gently, a marked contrast to the direction of their kiss. Suddenly she wasn't concerned about where he'd spent the rest of his day, but she was very intent on getting him inside her house. She slid one hand down between them, grasping his shirt in her fist in case he didn't follow the lead of her still insistent lips as she walked backward toward her front door.

"What about," he began, his words coming so close to her that his breath tickled her cheek.

"She's gone. Max picked her up."

He gazed down into her eyes. "You were going to be all alone here tonight?"

"Uh-uh-uh. No talking about stuff," she reminded him as she pulled the hem of his shirt up out of his pants.

"Right," he said, shifting the tee shirt up over his shoulders and head with an easy flick. "You sure about the movie?"

"We can skip the ice cream and miss the previews," she offered by way of compromise.

"It's not like we're skipping dessert altogether," he informed her, the look in his eyes unmistakably set on devouring her. She might have been slightly terrified by that expression at the outset of their relationship, but now it served to bring about her arousal like a strike to a tuning fork. Her stomach tightened and heat rushed to all the right places to prime her body for his.

She put a hand to his cheek, holding him at bay for just a moment. "I missed you. I know I just saw you last night, but this whole day, thinking you were going… I missed you."

He said nothing in response, but there was a purposefulness to the way he set to undressing her, helping her lift her shirt off her torso, pulling one strap off her shoulder to kiss her freckled skin before employing his other hand to release the clasp of her bra unsighted against her back. He pulled her to him after that and held her to his chest. She could feel his heart beat against hers, keeping the same time as if he were synchronizing the rhythm.

She had grown used to his intensity, letting her own desire ramp up to meet his, but this was like nothing he'd displayed before. She was unable to pull herself from his eyes as she felt her breath match the rise and fall of his chest. When he kissed her, there was a fusion and a wholeness that stilled her. She knew he hadn't wanted to leave, but in that moment she felt that he was never going to leave her no matter what happened.

-X-

"You two need anything else?" Luke asked gruffly. The diner was starting to empty out, as it was the last hour before it was set to close on a weekday night.

Rory shook her head with a smile that she couldn't seem to shake. "We're set, thanks, Luke."

Luke glanced from Rory to Tristan. "Your mom knows you're out?"

"She gave me the money and the idea to get milkshakes, even."

Luke grumbled under his breath, no doubt a dig about Lorelai's bad influence on her daughter's nutrition. He disappeared behind the counter, and Tristan turned conspiratorially to Rory. "He seems fun."

"Luke's a little prickly, but he means well."

"He talked you out of ordering extra food. Doesn't that hurt his business?"

"Luke's hard to explain. Let's just say he's a healthy eater and he and my mother do not see eye-to-eye on anything."

He put a hand on hers, sliding his fingers through hers. "So, our attempt at an average date night?"

She blushed and studied their hands. "It was good."

He feigned hurt. "Just good?"

Her eyes flashed at him. "I just mean that I'm not sure that our evening qualified as average. It was anything but average. But the last bit, the movie and hanging out here, it's definitely good. Nearly average."

He leaned in further across the table. "About before the movie," he said in a deep, husky voice that made her insides quiver all over again, as if her internal organs had turned to gelatin at the prompting of his voice.

"You sure you two don't need anything else? We're about to close the grill."

Tristan eased back into his seat as Luke glared in his direction. Rory clamped her lips shut to try to hide the giggle that bubbled up in her throat. She gave a lame cough. "You could get us those fries."

"Already cleaned out the fryer. I could get you some carrots," he offered in all seriousness.

"With milkshakes?" she asked in horror.

"How is that different than fries with milkshakes?" he countered.

She wasn't going to get into an argument that her mother would happily engage in. "We're good, Luke."

Luke nodded and left them alone yet again, without checking on his other patrons. Tristan watched him go and turned back to his girlfriend. "Prickly and a little protective."

She shrugged a shoulder. "He takes an interest."

He raised an eyebrow and leaned in, but not as close as before. "So, before the movie."

She stared into his eyes, willing her heart to keep a steady rhythm as it threatened to pound at the very mention of what they'd done before the movie. Technically they'd missed more than the previews. They'd slipped into the back of the theater halfway through the feature and did a little more than just hold hands. Sitting across the table at Luke's was the furthest she'd been from him since he'd shown up on her porch. "Yes?"

"I," he began, but her attention was directed to the diner door opening and her mother coming through as if searching the perimeter. The look of realization that washed over her once she saw Rory and Tristan was unmistakable.

"Is Luke's some kind of wormhole to France?" she asked lightly as she came up to the table.

"Hey, Lorelai."

Rory beamed at her mother. "He stayed to take me on a date."

"Milkshakes, cute. Aren't you supposed to be sharing one with two straws?" Lorelai teased.

"I've attempted to share food with her before," he relented, tossing little barb her way.

"Man, he does know you. I'm gonna go order," Lorelai said.

"He closed the grill," Tristan offered helpfully.

"What am I, an amateur?" she asked briskly as she strode off for the counter.

"Didn't she just come from a dinner date?" he asked.

"Maybe they never got around to dinner," Rory offered distastefully. "It wouldn't be the first time."

He stared at her quizzically. "She tells you that stuff?"

She took a sip of her milkshake. "It borders on child abuse."

He was quiet for a minute and she worried she'd made light of a subject she shouldn't have. He stirred his straw around the remains of his drink. "I went to see my dad today."

Her glassy eyes met his. "You did?"

"I kept thinking about everything, and why things got to be how they were. My grandfather was going to petition my parents through lawyers and use things he had on my dad to hasten the process, but that was going to take months at best. So I went, alone, today."

"Did he… what happened?" she asked more directly. She knew he was fine. She'd had the opportunity to see he had no new injuries to his body, not to mention the fact he had been fully capable of his full range of motion, not to mention an unmatched stamina. She felt herself growing warm again at the thought.

"He signed emancipation papers."

Her jaw dropped. He'd been holding that kind of news all evening, letting her revel in something as simple as a date. Granted, it had been one for the record books, but still. "He didn't fight it at all?"

"He's not a stupid man. I pointed out that he knew which way any judge would rule, given the circumstances, and how much money he'd save by doing it upfront and not dealing with further legal hassles. And since my grandfather is going to cut him off from his usual means of income, he's going to need to hold onto what he has left. This way it's a clean break."

"What about your mom?" she asked quietly.

His expression shifted, but he remained unnaturally stoic. "She's always done what he wanted, no matter her feelings on the matter. He earned the money, and she deferred to him."

Rory didn't bother hiding her disgust. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "Don't be. This means I don't have to be shuttled around between guardians. I can choose where I want to be and when."

"You did that to stay around this summer?"

"I did it to give myself options. To finally get away from all their drama. Now it's my choice, whether I want to be involved in any family matters."

"What did your grandfather say?"

Tristan smiled absently. "He was proud of me, for finding my own solution. He's not going to let me fall off the face of the earth, but with his health I knew he wasn't looking forward to legal battles and spending his remaining years reining me in and fighting on my behalf. I know he would, and that's enough for me."

She put her hand on his and squeezed. "I didn't give you enough credit when we first met. I was so wrong about you, it makes me wonder just what kind of judge of character I am."

"I didn't give you much reason to find out who I was. I wasn't in a good place then."

"I'm glad I know better now," she admitted with an admiring smile.

Lorelai slid a plate of fries onto the table and pulled up a chair. "Luke would appreciate you two not looking at each other like that. He said something about this being a place where people eat and you two hindering that process."

Rory turned to her mother. "How did you get fries?"

Lorelai smiled. "I asked nice."

Rory narrowed her gaze. "You flirted."

Lorelai put a hand to her chest, scandalized. "I would never stoop to such levels for French fries."

Tristan watched the two and snuck a fry. Rory cocked her head to her mother. "I told you not to come back early just for me."

"I can see you were kept busy," Lorelai said with a glance at her daughter's fry-stealing boyfriend. "But I would have been home early anyhow. Max still had some packing to do, and apparently I'm a hindrance to that process."

"And how," Rory agreed, stealing her own fry.

"I came here for moral support. I had to hear about my clogging arteries from Luke and now my own kid is complaining about me?" She turned to face Tristan. "What about you?"

He smiled at her, but it was too showy. "Your hair looks nice."

She frowned. "Oh, geez."

He put on his most repentant expression. "I could use a place to crash for a few days."

Rory and Lorelai both looked alarmed, their expressions so similar nearly caused him to choke on the fry. "What happened?"

He cleared his throat. "Well, my grandfather went to France today, and he's already closed up the house. I could get a hotel, but I thought I might check with you guys first. It's just until Saturday."

Rory paled. "What happens on Saturday?"

He met her eyes guiltily. "That's when I'm going to France. I changed my tickets this afternoon. I'm going for a month, and I'll be back for second summer session at Chilton. I'll probably move back into my grandparents' house then."

"Probably?" Lorelai echoed.

"He sought emancipation from his parents and they signed it," Rory provided, still staring at Tristan.

"You're on your own?"

It was plain to see Lorelai was at once uneasy and saddened by the news. "Just for the week. Grandfather is still planning on looking out for me, until he's satisfied that I'm on the right path."

"There will always be a place for you to crash with us, as long as you know the two of you will be supervised and there will be no sharing of beds. You may be an adult in the eyes of the law, but in my house I'm the law."

"I respect that," he said sheepishly.

Lorelai pushed back. "Good. You two finish off the fries. Go easy on Luke, he was nice to me tonight. I'll see you two at the house."

Rory watched her get up with concern. "Is everything okay?"

Lorelai pasted on a forced smile. "Yeah, it's fine. I'm just tired. I spent all day cheering you up, remember?"

Rory nodded and they said their goodnights. She looked to Tristan. "What a day."

"You can say that again," he agreed.

Luke came back over to the table with a rag on his shoulder and a to-go box in his hand. "Your mom left?"

Rory nodded. "Yeah, why?"

"I was going to give this to her. You mind taking it home?"

Rory accepted it. "What is it?"

"Pie. Seemed like she could use some tonight."

"I'm sure she'll love it. Thanks, Luke."

"Yeah," he muttered, as he righted the chair Lorelai had moved and continued to tidy up for the evening.

"You ready to get out of here?" Tristan asked gently.

"Yeah. Let's go home."


	20. Chapter 20

Story: Change of Scenery

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything Gilmore Girls related. I just write for my own amusement.

Description: Set in Season One, up to P.S. I Lo…. Rory goes to her grandparents to escape all the drama that has gone on in her small town life of late. But she isn't so quick to return as she was in the show. A spin on if Rory had more of a season 6 sized emotional meltdown in Season 1. Trory.

AN: This is the last regular chapter. I will be posting an epilogue shortly. Sorry for the delay—we're selling our house and we've been packing and insanely busy. Writing got put on the back burner for a bit. Thanks for reading, and I'll try to get the last part up ASAP.

The three Gilmore women were sipping drinks while Lorelai told some story about Michel getting into a slap fight with the new florist in Stars Hollow over the best arrangement of summer flowers for the reception desk. Rory focused more intently on the ice cubes in her glass of soda than her mother's recounting, as not only had she heard her mother's version of events, but she'd been in the room during the altercation.

"I have to say, I rather agree with Michel. Orchids and lilacs are far more pleasant than carnations. Carnations are filler flowers. Surely you have the budget in an upscale inn to avoid putting out filler flowers or weeds."

"Mom, daisies are not weeds. Please tell me we are not going to have that argument again."

"I just think it's odd, for someone who was brought up in the midst of good taste, to have such a fixation on cheap flowers."

"Daisies are happy!" Lorelai countered.

"Daisies have certainly never made me happy. What about you, Rory?" Emily redirected the conversation to engage her granddaughter.

"Rory got her own flowers this week," Lorelai half-sang, beaming at her daughter.

"What kind of flowers did Tristan send?" Emily asked.

"Just sunflowers," Rory said with a shrug, playing down the significance to her.

"Your favorite," Emily said with a nod. "You have to love a man that pays attention."

"But not one that approves of daisies," Lorelai said haughtily.

"So how is Tristan doing in France?" Emily asked Rory, ignoring Lorelai altogether.

"Fine. He's always busy and happy, and he really seems to enjoy all the production they have him learning."

"Wine-making is fascinating. We took a tour once of some vineyard in Massachusetts, and they took us through their whole vinification process."

"I bet it's a lot more interesting when you're swilling back the free samples," Lorelai mused.

"Well, there was that," Emily admitted. "But it was nowhere as good as what Janlan Dugrey produces. Their quality is unmatched."

"A lot goes into it and the business end," Rory agreed. "I'm glad he's enjoying it, but part of me would be happier if he didn't sound like he was so content to be there."

"He's still planning to return for fall semester, isn't he?" Emily asked.

"He was supposed to be back before the next summer session, but he's really enjoying things out there and pushed his arrival back another four weeks," Rory said glumly. "I know in the grand scheme of things it isn't that long, but I just miss him."

"It is hard, when all you can do is talk on the phone," Emily said. "Even though I keep busy when Richard travels for work, I do miss him."

"She has me," Lorelai said. "We've banded together this summer while our men are away, haven't we?"

Rory shook her head at her mother. "I'm not sure doing my homework at the Inn while you work constitutes as banding together."

"Well, I for one have kind of enjoyed the free time. After all, it's my last hurrah before I become a married lady," Lorelai pronounced.

"Yes, Lorelai, how are the wedding plans?"

"They're all done. Invitations went out this week," she said proudly.

"I got ours. I was planning on going shopping for your present next week. I was hoping Rory would agree to accompany me, but I wanted to get your approval first."

"Why, yes, I do like cars. Anything Italian will do," she cooed.

"I'm not asking your permission to buy you a gift, but to borrow Rory for a while."

Lorelai frowned. "How long is a while?"

"A week. You do have your mid-summer break coming up, don't you?" Emily asked her granddaughter knowingly.

Rory nodded. "Yes, but what kind of shopping trip takes a week?" she pondered aloud.

"The expensive kind," Lorelai supplied.

"Actually, I was thinking that it had been a while since I updated my fall wardrobe, and I've always had such luck with clothes in Paris. The French designs flatter my figure."

"You want to take Rory to Paris?"

"She could do with a few new things as well, and I hate travelling alone. Your father is going to be gone for another two weeks, and it would allow us to have a little bonding and get you a nice gift as well. It works on several levels."

"Grandma, that sounds amazing, but would we by chance have any free time to see any other parts of France?" she asked, unable to stop herself from mentally traveling the distance from Paris to Provence.

Emily smiled knowingly. "I did extend a line to Janlan and Grace, and they've already offered their hospitality to us should we find ourselves in the area."

Rory all but leapt out of her seat as she turned to Lorelai. "Mom?"

"Oh, like I can say no now. All you've done since that boy left is mope. If your grandmother is willing to ferry you over there and watch you like a hawk for the duration, I suppose that would be alright," she said, causing Rory to shriek happily and throw her arms around her mother.

"I'm so pleased this worked out so well," Emily murmured.

"I can't believe it. I understand why he's staying longer, but I wasn't really looking forward to waiting another month to see him."

"I'm just glad I don't have to bear witness to that reunion. The kissy noises alone are enough to make me queasy," Lorelai groaned.

Emily shot her daughter a look. "They're young, Lorelai. Surely you of all people remember what it's like to be young and in love."

"Because I'm engaged and still quite youthful myself?" Lorelai asked.

"Please, you're hardly young now," Emily came back.

Lorelai opened her mouth to respond, but Rory cut in. "Grandma, does Tristan know you were setting this up?"

"Not that I know of, why?"

Rory smiled with satisfaction. "Could we keep it a surprise?"

Emily returned the smile. "I don't see why not."

-X-

"Is this it?" Rory asked her face plastered to the window as they turned off the road and into a massive estate entry. There were a number of buildings placed around the grounds all set way back behind the rolling acres of the vineyard.

"I should hope so. We've been in the car far too long, if it's not the right place we're getting out to stretch our legs anyway," Emily said.

"It's a long trip," Rory acknowledged. "I can never thank you enough for bringing me all the way here for a few days."

"I'm happy to do it. I know Tristan means a lot to you."

"He does," Rory said quietly.

"It's surprising, isn't it?" Emily asked, breaking the short silence in the car.

Rory turned to her grandmother. "Being here?"

"Being in love," Emily stated simply. "Before I met your grandfather, it never occurred to me that anything could derail my whole life like that."

"Grandpa derailed you?" Rory asked, surprised at the admission. It had never occurred to her that Emily Gilmore's life had turned out other than just as she'd planned.

"Oh, heavens, yes. I had plans to join my sister in Paris and study art history and marry a Frenchman."

Rory nearly laughed. "You wanted to marry a Frenchman?"

"Yes, one that took me openings and galleries, and we'd stroll along the Seine, and host parties. And even when I first met Richard, I believed I would leave for France the moment I graduated. After all, he was engaged and our paths were set. We knew exactly what we wanted, independently of one another."

"So what happened?" Rory asked, knowing the feeling all too well.

"We fell in love. It disrupted everything. He called off his engagement, I put off my graduate program, and the next time I went to Paris, it was as his wife."

"Do you ever regret not going to school in Paris, like you wanted?"

"I couldn't fathom a future without Richard after being with him for such a short time. I couldn't consider leaving and letting him stay and marry someone else."

"Mom isn't happy that I'm considering other schools because of Tristan," Rory said freely, feeling oddly connected to her grandmother.

"Your mother loves you very much, but she's never been in love like that."

Rory shifted in her seat. "Not even with Dad, you don't think?"

Emily set her jaw. "I think if she were, she would have married him. I've always hoped she'd find someone to love."

"She's marrying Max," Rory said, with only a little hope in her voice.

"Yes, I suppose she is," Emily said primly. "He seems like a nice man."

"He is. He's a great guy."

"Good. Well here we are. Are you ready to surprise your young man?"

Rory couldn't suppress her joy. "Definitely."

A man came out of the main house at their arrival and Emily conversed with him in easy, fluid French about their bags and their being expected by the Dugrey family. Rory asked one simple question, no translation needed. At the sound of Tristan's name, she was pointed toward the vineyard to the east. She waved and offered gratitude in French and English and left her grandmother to get settled inside.

She walked down dusty rows through lush twisting vines, heavy with fruit. She was glad of her sneakers and long pants as dry dirt covered her lower legs as she walked in search of a familiar figure.

She turned down to a wider path between the rows and saw him examining the base of the vine on the other side of the row. "Hey, thanks for the flowers."

He looked up, suddenly startled, and slowly rose to standing. "You came all this way to thank me for the flowers?"

She shook her head, and he crossed the path to pull her into his arms. She squeezed him back, relishing in the feel of his solid body against hers after far too long.

"How did you get here?" he asked as he kissed the side of her head.

"It was Grandma's idea. She's at the main house with all our stuff she bought in Paris. We can't stay long, just a few days."

"You get to stay a few days?" he asked in wonder.

"If it's okay with you," she countered.

He kissed her in response, and she lifted herself up on her tiptoes to ease the strain on his back. When he pulled back, he didn't let her go. His words came out into her hair. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it back this week."

"Hence the flowers. It's okay. It's better, this way we both get to be here. It's stunning," she said as she glanced around the grounds that surrounded their field of view.

"This is just part of it. There's a lot more."

"You could show it all to me," she suggested with a smile she couldn't contain. "We should have time."

"I will. I just can't believe you're here. Why didn't you tell me?"

"It wasn't even my idea. Grandma suggested it last Friday and Mom agreed, and suddenly I was in Paris watching my grandmother command an army of salespeople and we bought Mom this beautiful antique clock that I think she'll actually love for a wedding present, and now here we are."

"I like the last part best," he said with a smile that mirrored hers. "How was Paris?"

"It far exceeded my expectations. I knew it would be beautiful and historic, but it has this undercurrent to it, just walking down the street was invigorating."

"Did you check out the Sorbonne?" he asked.

She tucked her chin and glanced up at him. "We did stop by. Grandma's sister knows someone who teaches there, and we met for coffee. The program is very competitive."

"So are you," he pointed out proudly.

"You're coming back here for good as soon as you graduate, aren't you?" she asked. She'd never seen him so comfortable. Back in Hartford, he had always been confident in a swaggering manner, but she could see a general discontent as if he weren't wholly at ease underneath all the entitlement he was blessed with. In less than five minutes she could tell a difference in the way he held himself, in the way he held her.

"We'll work on your mom together, maybe she'll let you come out next summer for more than a few days, and unsupervised. She'll be married by then, and more comfortable with us."

"I knew you loved it here, but to see you here, to see how happy you are, already making plans to be back in the future," she said, tears of joy or sadness or both springing to her eyes.

"What's the matter?" he asked, his thumbs rubbing up and down on her arms as he held her at arms' length to see her face.

"You don't have to come back to Chilton, not for me," she managed, for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Rory, stop. I am always going to come back for you. It doesn't matter where I go, if I'm not with you I won't stay long."

"But you love," she began, only to have him cut her off.

"I love you. This place is wonderful and there's a lot to learn, more so if I want to come back and be able to jump into things next summer, so I stayed to do that. If you need me to come home, I will."

"I don't need you to," she said, not convincing herself or him.

He studied her. "Is everything okay?"

"I miss you. I know this summer is just like last summer and all the other summers before that—me and mom hanging out, enjoying the longer days and less time in school. But nothing feels like it used to be. She's making all these wedding plans for a wedding I'm not sure she wants to be a part of, and you're not there, and it all feels off."

"I thought you said she was excited for the wedding."

"She says she is. She always says she is, but he's been gone as long as you have and it's like she doesn't really miss him. She talks to him on the phone, but unless someone asks her about him or the wedding, she never brings him up."

"That's weird, right?" he checked.

"By comparison, I talk about you so much that Lane offered to man a kissing booth to fund a collection in town to get me a ticket to come see you because she's tired of hearing me tell her how much I miss you."

"You talked to Lane about me?" he asked, pleased at her admission.

"Of course. She's my best friend."

"What kind of stuff do you tell her?"

Rory shrugged. "I don't know, everything."

"Everything?" he pressed.

"Maybe not every last little detail, but more than I tell my mom," she explained. "Why?"

"It's nice to know you miss me, I guess. That you're driving your friend insane all because you can't distract yourself from thinking about me."

"Careful, your ego will eclipse the sun, then all your grapes will die on the vines," she warned.

He kissed her forehead, amused at her comeback. "Your mom's probably just nervous. Aren't people usually nervous before they get married, cold feet and all that?"

"I wouldn't know, but I guess that could be it. My grandmother said that once she met my grandfather, she couldn't stand to think of a future without him in it. I can't help but wonder if Mom feels the same way about Max."

"I don't know the answer to that," he said as he took her hand and started to walk the path back toward the outbuildings. "But I do know the feeling."

She beamed up at him, squinting to block the sun's rays in order to focus on his face. "You do?"

"Yeah."

"Well, then I'm glad I took an application while I was at the Sorbonne."

He pulled their joined hands up and kissed the back of hers as it remained intertwined with his fingers. "Let me show you the rest of the grounds."

-X-

"Are you sure this is okay?"

"This is our land, of course it's okay," he said as he carried the basket stuffed with food up the hill.

"I know that, but it's my last day. Isn't it considered rude not to eat with my hosts at the main meal of the day?"

He turned to look over his shoulder at her, as she continued after him at a lagging pace. He stopped to let her catch up. "My grandparents are fully aware that you're here to see me and they're probably surprised we've spent that much time with them and Emily as it is. They love you, they don't think you're rude."

She paused, taking the break from walking. "When you said up the hill, I didn't think we were going to be climbing a small mountain."

"It's not a mountain, it's just a little steep in places," he corrected. "Besides, walking is good for you."

"I don't walk that much at home. Everything's different here."

"Different in a bad way?" he checked.

"Not at all. Taking a break from work mid-day, having a big meal, being outside this much, it's all nice. I don't feel like I'm monopolizing all your time."

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," he said as he put down the picnic basket. "I hope you'll want to come back."

"Is that an official invitation?" she asked, glad for his offer and the fact that it appeared they were done with their hike.

"You're welcome here whenever you want. Especially when I'm around, but I'm pretty sure my aunt is ready to adopt you."

"That would be awkward, since that would make us cousins," she cringed.

"Worse than awkward," he agreed. "If you're going to be a part of this family, there are better ways. God, not that I mean," he said, the horror of the implications hitting them both.

"No, it's okay. I know you didn't mean now or even later, but," she said, not ready for anything other than a potential shift in her college plans.

"Sorry. I find my mind is working much further into the future than I'd like lately. I don't want you to think that I'm ready for that. Or that I don't want you to be around when I am, but right now I'm just glad you're here. That sounded lame."

She smiled. "But I get it. I'm glad too, to be here now. And to have a nice idea in mind, for later," she added.

"Maybe we should eat," he suggested.

"It's harder to talk with food in our mouths," she agreed, helping him unpack the basket. "Did you pack this?"

"I did, all swiped from our pantry, which is filled to overflowing with local cheese and meat and various sundries."

"I love the food here," she said, happily taking a sandwich for herself and handing him one.

"Is that all you love?"

She scrunched up her nose as she looked around them. "The view's pretty good, too."

"And the company?" he inquired.

"Passable," she teased.

"Lucky for you, I brought something to make being alone with me more bearable," he said, pulling out a bottle of wine.

"You didn't bring it because it was the closest thing in reach on your way out the door?" she asked.

"That too," he said, opening it nimbly.

"You don't need to loosen my inhibitions to get me to say how I really feel."

He put down his glass and scooted across the grass to her. "How do you really feel?"

She fixated on him, rather than the amazing scenery surrounding them. Everything about her life could change, and it would just as much had in the last few months more times than she could keep track of, but she knew that if she focused on him that she could find some kind of stasis. "Lucky."

"You feel lucky? Is this a girl thing about being able to realize your Parisian shopping dreams?" he teased.

"Paris was great, but I'd rather go back with you. It doesn't matter where I am, it's better with you than without you."

"Funny, that's how I've been feeling."

"You don't say," she said with a grin as he abandoned the food and leaned the rest of the way into her. His lips met hers, slightly salty from the walk and sweet from the sip of wine he'd just had. She lay back in the lush grass, relishing in his touch and trying not to wonder if anything could change how she felt about him right in that moment. He slid one knee between her legs as his arms rested on either side of her, encasing her. She sighed with contentment into the warm air as he lips grazed slowly across her bare shoulder.

"Are you sure you want to go back? I'm not even sure I want to go back," she admitted.

He lifted his head to look at her. "I'll be back before the wedding, unless you really do stay."

"Only one of us is an emancipated adult," she said. "I have to go home."

"And as said adult, I get to choose where my home will be."

"And you really want to go back to Hartford over here?" she asked, still not convinced.

"I really want to be with you," he said, lowering himself back down to her lips again. She arched up into him, giving into the overwhelming need to be with him too. She might not be legally of age, but she had learned to make decisions for herself. Being there with him, on her last day in France, she couldn't worry about what would happen once they were back in Hartford or what might happen with college plans, or any of that. At the moment it was enough that she was exactly where she wanted to be.

-X-

"You're a million miles away."

Rory tore her gaze out the window and looked across the table. Between them was the normal assortment of items—plates laden with their favorite diner fare, condiments, silverware that they'd not need, and of course oversized mugs of coffee that were filled to the brim, thanks to generous top-offs. She smiled sheepishly. "Not a million miles."

"I get you for three more days, that's it. Then boys invade our lives for good."

Rory picked up her cup and took a sip. "You make it sound like they're aliens who plan on destroying life as we know it."

Lorelai sniffed. "Well, men are from Mars after all."

"Since when do you read outdated self-help books?" Rory asked. "Did you and Max have a fight?"

"What? No, of course not. Max is great. Max has been great. I mean, we're both busy. He might have been a little miffed that I forgot to make him an extra key."

"A key?" Rory echoed.

"To our house. Which will soon be his house as well," she explained.

"When is he finally going to start moving his stuff in?"

"He was going to start this weekend, but I didn't make the key and he brought a load of stuff and I wasn't home, so he was understandably frustrated. But we worked it out."

"Meaning you made him a key."

"I did, but I haven't given it to him yet. He had meetings all day at school."

"So you're procrastinating. I thought you wanted Max to move in."

"I do!"

"Okay, I believe you," Rory relented easily, sensing her mother didn't need the full-court press on the issue. "So you're okay that I'm not around on Friday?"

"Emily herself gave you the night off. Who am I to override that kind of permission? Though I am starting to think Tristan is paying her off. "

Rory smiled. "I just hate the idea of him not being met at the airport. His grandparents aren't coming home for another couple of weeks."

"Yes, and let me tell you how thrilled I am that you'll have his grandfather's giant house all to yourselves," Lorelai groused.

"You trust us, remember?" Rory reminded.

"I do trust you, but I also know that things at our house will be a big adjustment. What if you don't want to be there and take off again? Not that I was thrilled about you taking off to hide out at your grandparents, but to know that you have the option of staying with your emancipated boyfriend? It doesn't make your mother feel very good."

"I'm not going to move out when Max moves in."

"But you admit it will be weird."

"Having a guy in the house? Yeah, a little. But at least he's a guy that cooks."

"True. And he's very neat and tidy."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. You might not have to search for your car keys for twenty minutes every morning," Rory suggested.

"He won't be in charge of my keys. I'll still be in control of my life."

"I'm not sure losing your keys every day signifies being in control of one's life," Rory teased.

"You lost your keys again?" Luke asked with a sigh as he came around with the coffee pot.

"I found them," she said in self-defense.

"Please tell me they weren't in your ignition again," Luke said wearily.

"Nope. They were in the takeout drawer."

"It wouldn't be a scavenger hunt if you put them in the same place twice," he said as he poured more coffee into her cup.

She smiled up at him. "See? He gets me."

"Yes, but he's not crazy enough to agree to live with you," Rory pointed out.

"I don't think Max would like it much if Luke moved in," Lorelai said wistfully. "At least not until he sees how handy he is with a hammer."

"I'm sure Max has his own hammer," Luke muttered before leaving the table.

Lorelai frowned. "I'm not sure Max has a hammer."

Rory glanced between Luke, who was already with another customer, and her mother. "He'll have to get one. You can't expect Luke to keep coming over and fixing things for you once you marry another man."

Lorelai didn't look pleased. "But we'll still be friends."

"Friends, sure, but ones who don't flirt and constantly do favors for one another."

"You make it sound sordid and complicated!"

"It's a little complicated," Rory reasoned.

"We argue more than anything, really," Lorelai countered.

"That probably needs to stop too," Rory added none-too-gently.

"Would you like me to stop breathing, as well?" Lorelai asked, harassed.

"I just think Max isn't going to like you relying on another man so much."

"I don't rely on Luke. I mean, he feeds me and has the good coffee, so I guess in that regard I do."

"I bet Max will make breakfast and dinner," Rory said.

"Yeah," she said with a far-away look of her own. "I bet he will."

Rory eyed her mother, realizing now was a bad time to ask her about what she's planned to discuss and her mother was primed to change the subject to anything that didn't involve her. "It'll be fine."

"I know. Hey, didn't you want to ask me something?"

"It's okay. Another time," Rory insisted.

"No, come on. It's just you and me."

"But if you don't feel like it," she hedged.

"Rory, come on. What did you want to ask me?"

"Well," she began hesitantly. "Since you guys will be going on your honeymoon, and you weren't keen on me staying home alone the whole time," she said before pausing at her mother's concentrating frown.

"I thought we agreed you'd stay at your grandparents."

"It's an option, but before I could ask them, someone else offered their hospitality."

Lorelai steeled herself. "Lane?"

Rory winced. "No, not Lane."

"Rory, no. Not for a whole week."

"You let me to go France for a week," she tried.

"Yes, with Grandma, to stay at his grandparents' estate, with many adult chaperones around. Not for a week, alone in his house by yourselves."

"He's emancipated, and you know I'll be fine," she continued.

"Regardless of his legal status, you're my sixteen-year-old daughter."

"I know, but," she said, stopping as she couldn't argue her age. "You trust us."

"Under normal circumstances."

"We won't do anything we haven't already done," Rory stated the obvious, whether it helped or hurt her case.

"That does not make me feel any better," Lorelai said with a shake of her head. "Why can't you just stay at Grandma's—it's near him, and you'll get to see him plenty."

"I know that I'm still under your house and rules, and that you get a say in my life, but I should get a say, too. I'm old enough to make decisions about what I want. You have to be okay with letting me."

Lorelai stared at her daughter, who was in very many ways grown up. She'd argued that fact to more than one person, Max included. It was easier to remember when Rory's decisions didn't involve a week at her boyfriend's house. "You'd have to check in with me. Every day. And swear on a stack of _Cosmo_s that you'll be very, very safe. And if anything at all happens, you'll go straight to Grandma's."

Rory nodded eagerly. "Of course."

"And that if I am not happy with anything that happens in that week, Tristan will have to either flee the country or face my wrath. Or both."

"I think those terms are amenable."

"And I can go back to glaring at him when he comes over."

"Mom."

"Let me keep some of my old ways. I have to give up arguing with Luke and half my closet space and my daughter's innocence. Give me something here."

"Fine, you can glare at Tristan."

Lorelai perked up. "You do still love me."

"Mom, I'll always love you, no matter who you marry or where I live."

"Promise?"

Rory smiled at her mom. "Maybe we should move to the counter and play some bagel hockey. If you have to give up arguing with Luke, you should go out with a bang."

"Now I know you love me!" she exclaimed, as they grabbed their coffee and purses and moved to the empty counter space to set up their favorite diner game.


End file.
